


But [They] Refused

by ausername



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A fix-it fic, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other, Post Pacifist Ending, Undertale (video game) - Freeform, Undertale Original Universe, more tags to be added as we go~ whee~, non neurotypical brain stuff x magic because fanfic of videogame, not an AU universe; more like a sequel, pacifist ending spoilers, some flashback angsty stuff but the future will be happy, to give everyone happier endings as believable as I can manage, undertale - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausername/pseuds/ausername
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of the Undertale Pacifist run, not everything has fallen into place. Despite how many times people have told Frisk that everything turned out in the best way possible, they’re still sure things could be better. And they aren't the only one wishing things could still change...<br/>Meanwhile, humans and monsters learn to exist together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spooky Scary Skeletons?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of the Undertale Pacifist run, not everything has fallen into place. Despite how many times people have told Frisk that everything turned out in the best way possible, they’re still sure things could be better. And they aren't the only one wishing things could still change...  
> Meanwhile, humans and monsters learn to exist together.

9:50 p.m., October 31, 201X, a skeleton shuffles into Walgreens.  
  
The store was quiet. You were leaning into a freezer, blearily grabbing at the nearest half gallon of chocolate milk. You hadn't slept in twenty four hours, but the twenty four hours before that one you slept almost it's entirety (again,) missed a third day of work, and got fired. From Walgreens. This Walgreens.  
  
You had tried to get out of bed. You really had. You'd set your phone alarm, your alarm clock, and a reminder to ping from your iPod calendar. You'd laid out your clothes the night before. You took a shower, early, to help you get to sleep. But when you opened your eyes... it was... one of Those Days. You couldn't even get up to eat. But at least that worked out; you hadn't been hungry.  
  
To be honest, it was pretty awkward showing up at your ex job ten minutes before store closing hours – 9 minutes, now, but you were sad and tired and too busy thinking to sleep; all you wanted was to drown your troubles in sugar and calcium, because wouldn't that help everything? There were _some_ calories in comfort food cravings, after all. Yeah, at least you're convinced! Yee.  
  
The motorcycle pulled in slowly, a pleasant background noise up till the cutting of the engine. Then began the whispers. You were hardly paying attention; two half gallons of chocolate milk were in your shopping basket, you were good to go. You turned around, ready to head back up the aisle, and froze.  
  
The dwarf was wearing the best damn Halloween costume you'd ever seen, though the pink slippers clashed a bit. You blink. The man casually loads another bottle of ketchup into his basket, stacked atop the mega pack of twix, movements unhurried and lax.  
You notice you can see through the vertebrae of his neck. Commence staring.  
  
“That's what you get, showing up on graveyard shift,” he drawls, piling condiments dangerously. He then turns to you, deadpan, mouth fixed in a rictus grin. “Boo.”  
  
You snort, and in your exhaustion, seasonally appropriate humor is the last straw. You burst into tears. The dots of light in the skeletons eye sockets shrink, and... you are both uncomfortable.  
  
“Fuck.” he mumbles, reaching into his blue hoodie's right pocket with his free flanges. “Here's a tissue, for your... ah, yeah.” The packet is extended, and you hesitate a moment, before snatching it for your traitorously running nose.  
  
You cry for minutes, as silently as you can, and end up using every tissue there is. You shove them into your own jacket pockets hastily, only to dig them out again when there are no fresh ones left, and use them twice. It's almost as gross as you're feeling. So you really don't expect the stranger to still be there when you finally stop, staring distantly somewhere past your torso. A glance behind you reveals nothing but the freezers. You turn back towards your tissue benefactor.  
  
“Hey... are you okay?” His eyes shift, and then he blinks, slowly. Deliberately? And muffles a jaw-popping yawn into his sleeve. He blinks again (somehow,) one eye socket slightly before the other. You wonder if he's as tired as you feel.  
  
“Are you?” You hesitate, but nod, slightly. He offers you a thumbs up and then turns to go.  
  
“Wait-” you say. And to your nth surprise of the evening, he does, slowly setting down his left foot. “What's your name?”  
  
“...Sans.”  
  
“Sans? Sans... the skeleton?” A giggle burbles up your throat. “A-and you're not a moldsmal?” He's facing you again before you see him turn around.

“And here I thought you'd never seen a monster before.”  
  
“Oh, no... I'm sorry! For staring...” You wave your hands, then shove them into your crowded pockets. “I've just never met a skeleton monster before. And meeting you _today_ is... yeah. Happy... Halloween, by the way?” This is still kind of awkward; you must have said something strange by now, are you even being polite? Were you rude? Maybe the Halloween comment was some form of racist...? Your face is red and covered in salty snot. You open your mouth again; nope, no ideas. Nodding and strolling past him, you head towards the check out line. He walks in the same direction, of course. Um.  
  
There are two cashiers tonight. They move apart long enough to scan your and Sans' items, working quickly and quietly, exchanging glances all the while. Soon you and your new acquaintance are exiting the store. You pause, halfway out the doors, gaze on Sans' calcaneus.  
  
“So... uh. I'm... Hanabi. Hanabi Coleman. It was nice to meet you, Sans. Thanks. For the tissues.” Sans loads his purchase partially into the inner pockets of his jacket and partially into the motorcycle's small carrying compartment before shifting his gaze your way.  
  
“Don't worry about i-”  
  
“SANS! So you WERE here! What's taking you so long?” A large car had been parking while you were talking, and out of the back had appeared a second, much taller skeleton. He strolled over with large, loping steps, covering the distance in seconds. Behind him, a woman with white fur, floppy ears, and a lovely goat-like muzzle came from the driver's side of the car. Soon after a small human child holding a potted plant scooted their way out of the backseat until they could hop down onto the asphalt.

“I took the scenic route,” Sans replies, and the monster across from him contorts his skull in a manner reminiscent of raising an eyebrow.  
  
“So you _are_ curious about human traditions this year! Well... that's great!”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“Undyne and Alphys have invited us to go with them for-” The taller bone monster pauses while striking a pose during a pause for dramatic effect, “-Trick or treating! Nyeh heh heh~”  
  
“Eh, I'll pass.”  
  
“ **What!!** ” ...What indeed. They react like they heard it too, but did the child's yellow flower really just- “If **I** have to suffer this... this _utter stupidness_ , after refusing to take one step out the door thankyou _everso, Fris_ s _ss_ s _sk;_ you can't _let_ him say no, you can't!!! It wouldn't be _fair_!” The child moves the flower's pot into the circle of their left arm, and reaches down to pet the back of it's petals gently with two fingers. The white furred monster beside them smiles fondly down at the scene, and the flower...turns around. It has a face. Welp. Monsters are a myriad of magic and mystery. You knew they were cool.  
  
“Who says I've given up on convincing my brother?” The taller skeleton (Sans' brother?) grins kindly at the tiny flora, who responds to the gesture with a jerky grimace. You wonder what their history is.  
  
The young human stops stroking the plant's head, eyes locking onto them as they turn the flower pot around. “I'm sorry, Flowey,” they begin, peering earnestly into the little creature's eyes, “I'm the one who wanted you to come with us. Mom agreed to it, but, it was me.”  
  
“But... why?” Flowey the flower is incredulous. Frisk scuffs one of their shoes against the pavement, sending a pebble skittering away.  
  
“Wanted us 't match. I'll dress up as a flower, so...”  
  
“W-what? Frisk, that's... really...” Flowey blinks, shifts expressions, lands on something akin to pained exasperation. “Really weird. You _don't_ wanna 'match' me. Why would you think of this at all?”  
  
“...Holidays at the foster home weren't very fun. I always wanted... to celebrate with friends.” There follows several moments of freighted silence, before Flowey makes a thick glottal noise like he swallowed something sharp.  
  
“...You've got them.”  
  
“I want you with us.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“Please? _Pretty_ please? With snail pie on top?”  
  
“That doesn't even make sense. ...You just... don't give up, do you?”  
  
“Not much,” Frisk admits gravely. A few more silent seconds pass.  
  
“...Fine. I'll do it. I'll go. But, just this once. Don't ask me to do it again, because I won't.” Frisk immediately begins a celebratory jig, hopping up and down and twirling with the pot held overhead. “On second thought,” Flowey cries, “I have another condition! I'll go if you stop spinning! Don'tdropme _don'tdropm_ edon'tfall-” Frisk skids to a stop and freezes utterly still. The goat woman pats them twice softly on the head.  
  
“...You're some sort of magic, kid.” You'd almost forgotten Sans was beside you. And judging by the group's reaction, turning back toward him reminded them you had been standing here as well. And were standing there still.  
  
“...Hi? I'm... I. Have a totally legitimate reason to be here, it was, chocolate milk, then... uh. I met Sans? Then stood here listening to y'all talk, uh, I'lljustgo-” You whirl abruptly apartment-ward in a splendid show of acrobatics, stubbing your toe on Sans' motorcycle. It falls down. So do you.  
  
A skeletal pair of hands abruptly scoops you up from beneath your armpits, and you are lifted more than your height into the air. “Are you okay, Sans' new friend??”  
  
“You're a prince, Papyrus,” says Sans.  
  
“No, I'm a diplomat!” Papyrus responds, turning around with you and setting you back on your feet. You stare down at your shoes, watching your cocoa ambrosia spread over the pavement.  
  
“I'm, I'm not...”  
  
“Not okay?! Oh no!”  
  
“Uh, no, I'm... fine..,” Forget correcting Papyrus' sweet misunderstanding, this evening is a mess and you give up. You sigh heavily; pushing your fists against your eyes and rubbing hard. You are tapped gently on the shoulder.  
  
“There's no need to hide your feelings from me, Sans' new friend! You don't look happy... are you not okay because your milk has been spilled?” You glance behind you; Papyrus is wringing his hands and looking distraught. “It must have been important, for you to come out so late...” Papyrus is a darling.  
  
“It's fine, really. I can just buy more.”  
  
“Unacceptable! As would-have-been captain of the royal guard, it is my responsibility to ensure the happiness of all subjects; human and monster!”  
  
“Bro, I don't think that's what-”  
  
“Not now Sans! We've got to find a way to make it up to them. Oh! I know!!” And Papyrus turns to you, eye lights gleaming in the triumph of a truly beloved idea.  
  
“Come trick or treating with us!”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
[Somehow, you're struck with the feeling... you might not have a bad time]

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really rushed writing this first part, because I wanted to post chapters 1 and 2 slightly before or on Halloween, and I got... halfway to that mark, which isn't too bad? Hopefully this is okay even though I farted it out in p much 2 days! And hopefully chapter 2 will pop up within the week.  
> I'm really out of practice with writing, but I'll do my best.  
> (fic may be prone to spontaneous editing)  
> (The author loves comments!!)  
> (The author and their friend who is helping them write this are also quite nervous about adding their OC, though they see this has been done many times before in this fandom. Only, they generally don't get named, though they're the narrator? I'd love to know what you readers think of Hanabi.)  
> (And I hope I write Sans right!!! Gosh, I didn't think he'd be this tricky. I love him so much though.)


	2. White Knuckles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's alive, it's aliiiiiive! And so is the writer! I'm survivaling somewhat.  
> Love you all!! Hope you love the fic! Chapter 3 planned to drop before or on Halloween too! Pray for my spoons.
> 
>  
> 
> Song for this chapter's title is [White Knuckles by the band OK Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHlJODYBLKs)

“Are you certain, Hanabi?” Frisk's adopted mother, Toriel Dreemurr, meets your eyes through the back mirror, then focuses again on the road. “I don't mind lending you my intended outfit. You'd make a handsome Spilosoma virginica. Sure, the wings would be a bit big on you, and you don't have white fur, but-”

“-But I'm sure it would look much nicer on, you.” Whoa. That was smooth? You can practically feel your polite refusal skills gain a level, charisma stat rising from the ashes. Or perhaps thrusting a rotted hand out of the dirt. You grin sheepishly when Toriel glances at you again, eyebrows minutely raised. You shuffle your feet on the floorboard, and clear your throat quietly.

Turning to your left reveals that Frisk is watching you, head tilted to the side. From his place in their lap, Flowey has flopped against the window, face flat against the glass, leaves drooping lethargically at his sides. Frisk's hand moves in gentle circles on his stem, around where his shoulders would be, and the flower breathes a beleaguered sigh.  Frisk pauses at the sound, eyes trailing back towards the flora, and shifts their fingers to the tips of his petals, ruffling them as though they were hair. Flowey grumbles halfheartedly and takes it for all of two seconds, preferring to slide down the window until his face plops into the cup holder on the door. As if sensing your concern, Frisk glances up at you again, stares a moment, then offers you a reassuring smile. You return it, somewhat hesitantly, before turning to the right.

Papyrus is Flowey's foil; hands pressed to the window, watching the scenery with a smile. You recall how that expression had faltered at his brother's second refusal to join the group, and the way Sans reacted to the sight, shoulders falling forward in defeat. He'd amended his statement then, saying he didn't need the candy, but that he might... 'ketchup' a bit later. His words were accompanied by a twirling condiment bottle and a wink, as well as Papyrus' groan of disgust. And yet his smile had returned, just as bright as before. Sans posture had corrected itself as he reached up to pat Papyrus' arm, telling him to have fun. Now Papyrus, it seemed, was set on doing just that.

The brothers' bond and Papyrus' lighthearted resolve fills you with a mirroring warmth. ...Or, that could be the car heater. You unzip your jacket and begin to shimmy out of it, bump Papyrus' elbow with your own, and apologize. Papyrus turns your way, sees your shirt, and rolls his ocular lights in exasperation.

 _“No wonder_ you get along with my brother.” You glance at your torso, blink, and chuckle. You'd forgotten you put this on, but hey. It turns out you're in theme after all. Wearing the phrase 'I found this humerus' with a drawing of the bone in question is possibly the best choice you've made in the past 24 hours.

“I swear there's no way I could have planned that. Without time travel, I mean.” For some reason, Papyrus narrows his eye sockets at that, seemingly unconvinced by your explanation.

“...How long have you known Sans?”

“Since this evening.” Papyrus widens his jaw to say more, but then Toriel parks the car, and if his abrupt shift in expression says anything, he is distracted by his own excitement.

The group of five splits up for roughly fifteen minutes, Papyrus jogging to his and Sans' house for his costume while Frisk joins their mother at her neat, tidy house to change into their own outfits. Flowey is left with you, waiting inside by Toriel's front door. Six minutes of Flowey staring flatly down at the soil in his pot, stem bent, face static, and the sleep deprived part of your mind takes note that you could be attempting to flip a few cartwheels, or perhaps making faces; something to elicit a reaction from your new acquaintance. You recall at least one instance where such methods worked in your favor.  You were five years old. You shake your head, shifting your focus away from the pot at the corner of your eye, and decide he might be ...thinking? So. You respect his silence. Eight more minutes in, though, and you've wondered what _kind_ of thinking he's been doing a little too often. Maybe you're projecting. Maybe your thoughts are already on loop again. From hearing his voice earlier, you assume he's still a kid? But... still. You probably really are projecting, but...

“So... holidays, right?” A brilliant non sequitur. Flowey cranes his face towards you, a faint frown growing into a passable scowl, almost unnerving despite it's lack of intensity. His eyes have narrowed in distaste, or distrust. Or neither? Or both...?

“What do you want...?” The query is spoken on a sigh. You shift your gaze, shift your feet, bring your gaze back, and crouch beside Flowey.

“I don't know.”

 “...”

“I mean... this whole... evening has been kinda by-the-seat-of-my-pants, quasi Lorax transport style to be honest.” Flowey arches the space above his left eye. “You know... where he gives himself a wedgie and flies awa-”

“Is that from human entertainment.”

“Yes?”

“I'm not interested.”

“Ah.” Flowey tilts his entire body to the right, in a somewhat feline manner, and away from you. You take it you are dismissed. His eyes don't fall immediately back towards his roots, and instead scan the hall towards the door through which Frisk had disappeared. Sensing your blankly continued gaze, Flowey casts an exasperated glance your way.

“It's rude to stare.”

“Sorry!” You leap to your feet, nearly kicking your own butt on the way. Maybe you should have done that on purpose? Maybe he'd laugh. Kinda like in that Monster's Inc scene. Only less painful. ...Would he really think that's funny though... he doesn't seem in a comedy mood, and how old is he, anyway? 'Boo' was what, three? If Flowey's around Frisk's age, you're guessing... nine? Ten? Or maybe eight. Seven...? That, or his age doesn't matter and his body's an illusion! Haha, no more Steven Universe for you. (Kidding. You love that show.) Just as you're about to giggle at your own inept self flagellation, a door creaks open. Finally, a distraction from your mind.

Toriel is... gorgeous. Moths have never been that beautiful, and if you're wrong, you need to take a minor in entomology. Or photography. Or both. The living vision smiles kindly your way, then turns towards Flowey, still facing another direction, and tuts her maternal disappointment. At that, Flowey tilts his face yet farther from the both of you, contorting in what you must assume is a painful angle. You're hoping Frisk returns soon, and- oh, there they are. Their clever facsimile of Flowey's form is so cute, it's all you can do not to chuckle. You've a feeling it would not suit the serious air that enters the room, as Flowey turns slowly to meet Frisk's steady gaze. Well, the serious air that was there until Papyrus calls triumphantly from the other side of the front door. It seems this party's ready to hit the road. Streets. Sidewalks. You should maybe start talking, out loud? Instead of the inner ramble jamble. Except, that is a horrible idea. You smile and follow the leaders.

Papyrus is Spaghetti. You won't question it. He is rocking that marinara dripping wig...uh...skeleton plus red drippy... was he aiming for legitimately spooky or completely ridiculous, you... you don't know. He smells like you should _really_ have had a snack before agreeing to a night of walking. His eyes meet yours, and he...pulls a forkful of spaghetti from his plastic pumpkin basket. Holy shit. Frisk makes an incomprehensible noise as you blink multiple times before taking the fork from your smiling savio- … … … you manage to swallow. You are a champion. He looks so pleased. Your face will reveal nothing. You will take this misery to your grave. Just as you are about to force yourself to smile, A blue fish monster cradling a yellow mini-dinosaur drops down from Toriel's roof with a slam that nearly topples you sideways. Oh look, a distraction.

“Undyne, Alphys!!” Papyrus bit the bait of fate. Also, apparently they are another two eighths of tonight's quest group. “You're perfectly on time, and It's so great to see you!! And, Undyne, you look _so cool!_ What are you dressed as?” Alphys reaches up to adjust Undyne's angular sunglasses, and Undyne grins down roguishly, before raising an eyebrow towards Papyrus and striking quite a pose.

“Who the hell do you think I am?” Alphys squeals so hard she snorts, and Kamina smiles at her armful of Mew Mew Kissy Cutie so affectionately it should be all sorts of illegal as a trigger for cavities and diabetes. Holy. Shit. Why are _you_ blushing? Deity(ies?) have mercy on your sorry awkward derriere.

“Watch your language.” Alphys' snort turns to a choke, and Undyne immediately pats her back with a careful, practiced amount of force, answering Toriel's request with a returned gaze, a blank expression, and a laconic nod.

...Um?

“He-he-hell-hell _o_ , you-your majesty,” Alphys stutters, as Undyne sets her gently on her feet, and links their arms supportively together. Toriel Dreemurr stands tall and serious-eyed, her masterfully crafted wings now more imposing than beautiful, her height seemingly accentuated by the stern lines of her dignified stance.

Dreemer. **_...Right._** _How_ did that not sink in before...? ...Also, though... umm? You fidget from one foot to the other, and Undyne turns to you, obvious tension momentarily put aside by curiosity. Oh, no.

“...Hi,” you whisper, and twine your fingers together in discomfort. Undyne tilts her head to a side in thought, and Alphys looks up for a second to glance your way as well before taking a deep, shaky breath and facing The Queen of Monsters again, squeezing Undyne's hand. Undyne's eyes leave you in an instant, and she squeezes back.

“Thank... thank you for allowing my presence on this holiday occasion.” Toriel regards Alphys in silence for a moment longer, and the shorter monster swallows heavily. You aren't certain if Undyne is attempting to smile or unable to completely hold back from baring her razor teeth.

Finally Toriel nods stiffly, and turns to take Frisk's offered hand, returning their answering smile. Alphys looks like she would have slid to the sidewalk if Undyne had not been holding her up. You're kinda shaken yourself. You weren't expecting...whatever that was. You close your eyes and breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out. The crisp air against your neck. The comfort of your worn shoes. _T-the iron grip on your shoulder-!_

You're whirled around 180 degrees before your shriek can properly escape and meet eyes with Alphys, who has been hoisted to sit comfortably in the crux of one of her apparent girlfriend's arm, and the direct, focused, deep-set gaze of said girlfriend. Undyne's crimson eyes refract the streetlight from lamps around the three of you like lustrous, depth shifting pools of... of. You squeak trying to breathe, swallow nothing, and try for air again. You're pretty sure now that was somewhat of a snarl from her earlier, because her smile looks as dorkily ridiculous as a smile can when it is set beneath a faint scowl and surrounded by those kind of teeth. She looks... friendly. Super deadly, somewhat pissed off, and a bit calculating...but also decidedly friendly. Or, uh... interested. Definitely... interested. Are you going to pee yourself? Please, please... no. Alphys coughs lightly into a fist, and Undyne moves Alphys into her other arm, so the shorter monster can offer a slow, hesitating, cautious hand towards you. Under Undyne's laser focus, of course. You jerk your shaking hand forward robotically, and something like recognition stirs in Alphys' eyes, as her shoulders relax by slight degrees. She lowers her proffered hand to smile at you instead. Her smile is tired, earnest, uneven, and perhaps a bit grateful. You have no idea what for, but Undyne's smile grows sillier as Alphys is swung up and back to her feet. Acceptance...? ...Yay?

“Don't worry,” Undyne snickers, “I don't bite humans, even non fatally. Not anymore! Your blood tastes _so_ gross.”

“Bwuh?”

“She isn't strictly a warrior anymore,” adds Alphys, like that helps matters and absolutely does not send you further into a quiet horror. Has she killed people. What. Warrior. Has she killed humans? Your legs start to wobble, your breath starts to quicken, and next thing you're aware of you've a knuckle-whitening grip on Papyrus' hand and he is pulling you gently behind him, pace much slower than it could be, yet you're stumbling to follow. His glove is somewhere between firm and soft, like a very thick pillow, and cool like the night air, untouched by the warmth of flesh or a pulse. Until now, anyway. You try to ground yourself, focus, staring down at your shared grasp. A human and a monster, walking together in the near darkness, peacefully and without words. Two fluttering shadows under a streetlamp. Two sets of feet, neatly out of time.

This wasn't scary. It wasn't lonely. This felt like-

“Hey-”

Sans did catch up! Great for him. Bad for your heart. You wish you knew if cardiovascular trouble ran in your biological family. That would have been very useful news. You're holding both hands to your chest now as you wheeze, and yeah they all notice. So you suck it up and stand straight like a real adult person and smile the best grin you've got. Sans still has you beat, damn. He could win medals at this. Then again, less tell tale signs of discomfort to work with and against. Can skulls get smile cramps...? That's a rictus grin if you've ever seen one and. It's. Not comforting.

They're not bullies. They're not judgmental. They don't ask a million questions. They haven't said anything mean to you. They invited you to spend time with them, like they were comfortable with you. Like you were friends. Sans stood with you while you cried. The Queen offered to lend you a costume. Papyrus held your hand.

Why aren't you better at this?

“What the **bitch** , that's _crazy_!” With no further warning, a flash of dual spiked, over-gelled brown hair and an overlarge red hoodie dashed over from across the street. The wide-eyed teen nearly screeched to a stop mere inches away from you and Papyrus, and darted her gaze around the group like the eight of you were celebrities with bedhead and no makeup. Then she whirled around and reached for your hands. You flinched back, fingers curling into your palms, but she took little notice as her eyes continued to roam shamelessly over every inch of your seven acquaintances. Toriel pushes Frisk deftly behind her, though her child peers seriously at the third human from around her side. You swallow again, thrown for another loop and still trying not to hyperventilate, when Flowey groans in considerable annoyance and swiftly stretches his stem forward so his face is a centimeter from the stranger's. Her delighted eyes sparkle in a closer to anime manner than you thought physically possible, and you're not sure why it's now even harder to breathe. Maybe the way Frisk tenses, maybe the sudden lack of light in the corner of your vision, where Sans stands unmoving. You open your mouth soundlessly, and a shout rings out from behind the interloper, from where she had come.

“ _Chelsie!_ What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Monsters,” Chelsie giggles, bouncing furiously on her heels, and a long-sleeved blue arm loops around her waist and drags her backwards by a few inches before the red hoodie'd girl turns confused towards the blue, only to have a hand placed over her mouth. Judging by the other girl's reaction Chelsie may have licked it, but she keeps her hand in place regardless, eyes narrowed at you, as she almost wrestles Chelsie back across the street. There's a lump in your throat as you stare back, and offer your hand to Papyrus again. You hand is covered in four others instantly, and you try not to blink. Undyne, Papyrus, Toriel, and Frisk stand behind you as the narrowed eyes are accentuated by a disgusted sneer, and your eyes water kind of a lot.

“Your Tom cosplay is _lame_!” You shrill, and Frisk snort-giggles like someone their age. Suddenly everything is wonderful. You are 200% ready for trick or treating with potential friends, and dishing out your candy between them at the end. Bring. It. On.

Skittles, snickers, butterfingers. It was going ok. An elderly woman answered the first door and offered a handful of mini packs to Frisk and with a wink, gave Papyrus the same. The couple who answered the  second door looked at Undyne's muscles worshipfully, and Alphys nodded in contented solidarity. The third house had its lights out, and an already empty bowl on the porch. The fourth had plastic spider rings.

It was going great. Then you saw the children in the street.

One was crouched and tense, their hair concealing their eyes and barely revealing their panting mouth as they moved swiftly from side to side, knocking the shorter two's hands and tossed rocks away from the toad between the three of them, protecting it. Then one of the aggressors grabbed a stick, snapped it in sharp halves, and lunged, skewered the frog through it's head. The children held very still a moment as the frog convulsed and died. Then, shrugging, the two attackers turned to walk away. The third child was still a few seconds longer, reaching to slowly cup their hands around the deceased animal.

Then they pulled out half the stick, grasped it in their palm, and slammed it into the killer's neck.

You were curled in the fetal position, hands suppressing your scream, and staring unblinking at an empty patch of asphalt and into the middle distance, until Undyne scooped you up and carried you to a park bench. There the group sat on the ground around you, quietly eating candy until you woke up. As your fingers relaxed, Papyrus slid a spider ring onto your middle finger, to see if the small thing fit over your knuckle. You listened to them explain the time gap, not knowing what to say, and Frisk placed a hand on your shaking knee, asking you to look up. Did their mom look angry? You admitted Toriel did not. Did Papyrus seem weirded out? No. How does Undyne look? Concerned. And Alphys? Not angry. Sans? ...Tired. And Frisk? Understanding, and too patient for their age.

In summary, you realize, your embarrassment changes little. They seem to like you. To like you still.

They waited with you to be sure you were alright.

This night could have gone a lot worse.

If a lanky haired child runs past the corner of your vision and through a tree, you say nothing. If Flowey turns slightly towards them and then towards you, their eyes sharp, you say nothing of that as well.

Of course your brain would troll you today. It's a spoopy holiday. Yet somehow, you may have just tripped improbably into making some pretty amazing friends. You need to get some sleep soon, but you'll ask for their numbers, and call them in the morning.

You _will_ , that's all. You've done much scarier things. And now you won't have to face shit alone.


	3. Kids That I Once Knew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title song: "Dead Hearts" - Stars  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQT2HVfxJu4

 

“ _Sugar, flour, cornstarch, salt...it says we should start adding the milk, now. Are you ready, Chara?”_  
  
_“Do it 'Re!”_

 _Two children stood on a stool before a stove, balanced together precariously. A white furred monster on the left, and a shorter human to the right. The human child moved a large wooden spoon in circles with both hands, tongue stretching their right cheek and gaze intent on the saucepan as they stirred with Determination. A particularly strong swish of the batter brushed Chara's shoulder against their cheek, sending a lock of brown hair falling in front of their right eye. The monster child reached over their raised arms to tuck the hair back behind their ear. Chara giggled as their companion's furry paw tickled their neck. They glanced sideways at Asriel, and smiled beatifically. Asriel returned the expression warmly. He noticed the sparkle in Chara's eyes a moment too late.  
  
Chara whipped their head around wildly, condemning their 'do to a formless frizz and shaking the stool significantly. Asriel wobbled, flailed for the kitchen counter, failed and toppled to the floor, taking the brown sugar with him. The bag plopped on his face and upended down the front of his shirt. From above came a delighted laugh.  
  
“You're so _ sweet _, Azzie!” Chara snickered, then breathed a contented sigh.“The milk's still on the counter, make it join the goop?” Asriel sat up, rubbing the back of his head and staring at the tile. Chara mixed for a moment more, before pausing and glancing his way. “Asriel?”  
  
“I don't think sharing the stool is a good idea,” Asriel murmured.  
  
“Grab a chair then.”  
  
“I don't think I can carry it by myse-”  
  
“It's possible!” Releasing the utensil, Chara crossed their arms as they turned fully towards the fallen boy. “If you want it enough, it'll happen.”  
  
“But...” Chara's unblinking stare did not relent, even when its recipient pulled his knees to his chest and dropped his gaze. “That's not... always true, is it?” Asriel peeked upward tentatively, to see Chara's raised brows. “It's... they're big. The chairs.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“They're twice our size.”  
  
“ **So**?”_  
  
_“So why don't we just... take turns with the stool?”_  
  
_“...”_  
  
_“I'll pour some milk,” Asriel offered, “and then-”_  
  
_“No. You stir. I will get the chair.”_  
  
_“But you're even smaller than-”_  
  
_“I can do it.” hopping down from the stool, Chara strode confidently across the room, and continued as such down the hall to the dining room._

 _They brought back a chair. They pushed, they pulled, they lay on the ground and kicked it, they practically wrestled it into the room, leaning heavily against it and struggling forward; but the furniture moved to the front of the stove. Asriel watched the final seconds of the feat quietly, stirring obediently, expression nearly reverent.  
  
“See that, Asriel?” A nod. “I **never** give up.” Chara extends a hand, palm forward, and Asriel claps it high five. Chara grins, and Asriel watches their friend climb their successful achievement, his expression gone thoughtful.  
  
“...Mom and dad need to buy smaller chairs.”  
  
“I like sharing a chair.” Chara protests.  
  
“You like stealing my utensils.” Chara's smile widens as they lunge to reclaim the mixing spoon; Asriel holds it overhead, pushing onto his tip-toes, scrunching his nose smugly at Chara's short lived scowl. “Nuh-uh, it's your turn to get the ingredients. We need eggs and vanilla this time.”  
  
“Mix it with a ladle.”  
  
“That would be hard.”  
  
“A knife!” Chara chirps.  
  
“N- what? How? I'm gonna use a whisk.”  
  
“Lame...” Asriel sticks out his tongue, and Chara flicks his nose in retaliation, grin returning at his squeak of surprise as they hop down from their perch and head towards the fridge.  
  
“Oh,” Asriel recalls, “and don't forget the butter! We need a cup- or, no, two tablespoons.”  
  
Partway across the room, Chara freezes, eyes upon the counter and widening in revelation. A small vase of yellow flowers sits innocuously where it had since that morning.“...Butter...cup.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Hey. D'you know what might make this pie **really** special?”_  
  
  
_~~~_

 

The phone is ringing, and you've flopped off your bed to grab it before you re-register that the apartment's floor is still rugless and hard, and that neither your elbows or unpadded chest take kindly to such abuse.  
  
“Mohm?” You manage through the remnants of your dreaming, and Toriel's laughter is the most embarrassing music ever. Worse than your ringtone, even... maybe. There was that time it went off in public. “Oh, fu- for- I, forgot, the thing, what was the...what...what time is it?”  
  
“Three thirty in the afternoon,” is her even reply, and you groan in shame. At least you aren't late for work today! Because. Yeah!  
  
“Because why?” She sounds indulgently amused and slightly confused and oh shit you are not awake enough for this. Curse your lonely, idiotic, elbow bruising reflexes.  
  
“Because...I planned to help you on your grocery trip?” And lie and invite yourself over, apparently. Not really, the latter is a stroke of pure impulse that should have instead smacked you upside the head. Maybe you can blame it on the fall from your bed. And write vent poetry until you are dea-  
  
“You remembered that?” She sounds pleased. “I did put it off a bit, but I didn't expect you would-” her words blur together as you try to remember her asking last night. You've got nothing...thank your subconscious...? Oh man. You're so weird. Nothing else on your schedule, though. Time to haul food.  
  
Toriel is a charming conversationalist. How do monster politics work? Was she voted Queen for her sense of humor? Your jokes aren't even funny until she elaborates on them. She piles all sorts of cooking necessities into the cart as you push it forward distractedly, listening as her rambling begins to leave your input behind altogether. It's great. Some of the topics are way cooler than could be anticipated. Like the historical value and application of spices in cooking worldwide, in much greater detail than history classes had given, with the addition of quite a few twists. And the way she describes some dishes? She actually notices you salivating... and promises to make you a bowl of something nice if you help her unload the groceries too.

You are like 89% certain you have never been more excited for brunch in your life. You are briefly lost in thought as you attempt to guess what sort of meal awaits, so it takes you some seconds to realize that Toriel has become silent, staring into the main candy isle with an expression you can't quite read. You follow her gaze towards a pretty standard chocolate bar. Nothing fancy, nothing expensive, just a bar of dark chocolate, not even large. She isn't blinking, though... so you release the cart's handle hesitantly and walk slowly past her towards the item, holding it up with a sideways smile.  
  
“...You like chocolate too?”  
  
“Do you?” Nooot the response you were expecting. Her face barely moved when she spoke. Her eyes are still open.  
  
“Are... are you ok?” On some basic level, Toriel's unreactive eyes make you want to scream. And while that's not a thing that needs doing at a grocery store, she's... You set the candy down and head back as slowly as you came, staring up at her face from beside her, and reach up on your tippy toes to pat her nearest shoulder as gently as you can. You didn't think she would even feel it honestly, but she blinks abruptly at the contact, eyes widening in recognition.  
  
Whew.  
  
“...I...” She flounders, so you try to recall the current conversation.  
  
“I love chocolate, actually.”  
  
“...That so,” she mumbles, blinking again, and clears her throat lightly, like a singer choked up mid song. She turns and retrieves the bar of chocolate that began the shopping interlude, glancing at it a moment more with contrition, then smiles down at you with warmth.  
  
“A reward for keeping this old lady company,” she trills, and then sighs in a contrastingly distant sort of way. “I've stopped enjoying these trips alone.”  
  
“I...I can do this more often?”  
  
“That would be very kind.” Her eyes are wandering again, now vaguely upwards, though she walks in as straight a line as before, so you quietly hasten to follow.  
  
After all the planned groceries are gathered, she ends up turning back towards the sweets isle, and takes a chunk of time carefully examining pie pans, butterscotch, brands of cinnamon... and this time it's you who is lost for a bit until she taps your shoulder and reclaims your attention. You couldn't help but wonder, though, at what context you were missing earlier, and now. Nor could you help remembering that set of her eyes, or feeling yourself unsettled with a clueless sort of empathy that was squeezing up your stomach and making you wonder if brunch was gonna work out after all.  
  
It does though. You think you could eat the Monster Queen's cooking even on your Very Bad days. No child of hers will ever starve. Frisk is in fabulous fluffy hands. You wish they weren't at school at the moment, though... their mother won't stop staring into the middle distance at irregular intervals, cementing your resolution of the day; to stay here until she feels better or kicks you out. Something's hella on her mind, and you don't know what or if she even fully remembers you're here, but you'll offer some listening to stuff. Awkward friend powers, a c t i v a t e. Operation Halloween Love Payback Part 1 is a-go.  
  
You reach into your pocket and dial secretly under the table, checking that your cell is indeed on silent and then shifting to sit on it for utter quiet. Briiiing, briiiiing, and Toriel startles to answer her phone, swiftly and without checking caller ID.  
  
“Hello?” Silence. A puzzled frown, a query, and she pulls the device from her ear, seeing your name and raising an eyebrow across the table. You retrieve your phone and wave it with a self conscious wink, smiling and trying to think of the smoothest way to breach a probably quite sensitive topic.  
  
“So... what's. Your brain, noms, nomming your brain, um,” You spare only a millisecond to consider being an under-table-living human-troll, emerging never, and reign in your focus. “You're sad?” _Wow._  
  
She is simply staring again, at you. Rather, through you? But. Wet drips beneath her left eye and-  
  
For an impossible instant you forget where you are, what you know, what sensation you last remember. There was no taste lingering on your tongue. There is only the scent of baking pie, arrhythmic clapping, mingled children’s laughter, and-  
  
You blink at the stove timer's alarm, to Toriel's widened eyes, seeing her single tear caught in its trail down one white haired cheek. She rises unsteadily as you immobily watch her removing the butterscotch pie from the oven. She slices it into sections, movements familiar, though maybe subtly shaking. Your host plates two pieces of her confection on a small cracked dish, which barely balances its burdens yet had been collected from a low cabinet with the sort of care one would afford an invaluable artifact. Then Toriel places that between you, with a heavy intake of breath, and meets your eyes with focus.  
  
“You're a wizard, Hanabi?”  
  
“...Funny human culture meme...?” What?  
  
“...I did think it odd, it seemed too unlikely, though your lack of... guard shows you mean no harm. However. You can't _just_ _take_ with _so little warning_ ,” she now speaks in a deliberate facsimile of calm, her expression firmed into like what you'd seen briefly towards Alphys last night, and your voice cracks so badly you're nearly whistling when you manage to exclaim,  
  
“What??”


	4. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week, on Crying Breakfast Friends...
> 
> (It's...it's gonna be ok. It's gONNA BE OK.) 
> 
> Oh hey, is that plot?
> 
> Chapter song: "Aftermath" - Caravan Palace https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imCd-m32oAs

 

“So... weird day, huh.”  
  
You gulp a massive mouthful of burning tea.  
  
“At least you got past the heat of it,”  
  
You tilt your neck and cup so far back part of the steaming mess runs up your nose as you crunch on a rouge leaf, then lurch forward to violently sneeze. Ugh, tea snot.  
  
“I guess that's good?” You blink through watery eyes to see Sans pull a tiny glass from his dimensional box, pour some tea, and-  
  
“That's not monster t- oh.” It's running between his femurs and from his chair to the floor. He blinks, and shrugs.  
  
“Sorry, couldn't keep it in.”  
  
“...I want to laugh, but...sorry.”  
  
“Yeah, I shouldn't waste puns like that.”  
  
“Gross.”  
  
“You're still rattled?”  
  
“Um...duh.” He spares you a polite silence as you clumsily pour yourself and noisily ingest another cup of still weak tea. You care nada about appearances right now. Apparently you're magical: maybe your boogers have healing properties and can cure bad eyesight and broken legs. Finally, you can contribute solidly to society with your tears.  
  
“That's an expression.”  
  
“I'm... depress...ion… and I, have... Hanabi.”  
  
“Give them back?”  
  
“Fight me.”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“But what if my witch form's a doozie? If I wished for friendship, my despair might be bad for morale.” Sans pours you more tea, but now you're thinking about Mami and don't want it anymore. Madoka Magica, this is what the refrance. Also now SBAHJ. “...Actually, yeah, you really need to destroy me. I'd probably end up as crying rare pepe.” He responds with a hard stare. Probably he isn't really appreciating your humor either. But you're worried there's a danger of you laughing like a cracked anime protagonist, and that's really not socially acceptable. You need to keep talking. “So... I'm a... mage.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“And, that isn't any sort of normal.”  
  
“Not nowadays.”  
  
“Why,”  
  
“Magic tends to cluster to concentrations of itself, and most of it was trapped in a barrier for centuries.”  
  
“Ah. But me?”  
  
“Latent potential in faded plausibility.”  
  
“So I got recessive magic genes?”  
  
“Not quite. Magic isn't carried in human physicality. It's more like you were born with a pocket magic could fill, and then recently it did.”  
  
“So, if I told you I had an extra weird week around a year ago...”  
  
“I'd believe you.”  
  
“...So you're saying my stress induced hallucinations are actually magic induced.”  
  
“Magic's a factor, but I don't know the whole of it. You're untrained and unadvised, though magic tends to piggyback on-” there's a knock on the door, and you sit up straight with a jerk, in a painful knot of tension. You nearly forget the emptied teacup in your fingers, fumble it, and somehow manage to shove it across the surface of the coffee table far enough towards the center so it won't hit the floor. “It's your house, Tori.” Sans welcomes, and Toriel enters her own living room with the faintest of smiles. You pretend to sneeze so you can wipe your sudden tears away and excuse your sniffle. Oh, hell. You. Fucked. Up.  
  
“An accident?”  
  
“Someone wasn't aware of their constitution.”  
  
“I gathered as much,” Toriel sighs as she drops a towel to the puddle on the floor. ...There's humor, and there's procrastination, and you think you know the difference.  
  
“I'm sorry.” They look at you, and you just look back, not sure what else to do. “Toriel... I... you. I didn't know I could. Mess with grief like that.” Toriel's gaze softens as her focus fades toward the mid distance again, and you inhale sharply. Sans raps his knucklebones thrice on the table, with more force than perhaps necessary, but with such a practiced air you get the feeling he just wasn't used to knocking on wood.  
  
“Knock, knock.”  
  
“Who's there?” Toriel mumbles.  
  
“What's here,” Sans corrects, off-script enough that the monster queen drifts her gaze back towards him.  
  
“What is?”  
  
“A present.”  
  
“What present?”  
  
“The present.” Sans hands Toriel a framed photograph from beside him, and after an infinitely long instant of gazing at it wide-eyed, she holds it away from her face as she begins to sob. Sans takes it back gently, exchanging it for a familiar looking packet of tissues, which she accepts easily and opens with her eyes closed.  
  
Sans turns the photo towards you silently as she heaves near hiccuping, and you lean forward. Frisk stands as straight and tall as their limited height would allow, hands fisted at their sides, with no facial expression discernible. They are located in the absolute middle of a narrow paved road, surrounded by a field of grass with Sans, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, and Toriel, as well as another goat monster. The latter's expression has you squinting into his inked face for tufts of tear-displaced fur, before you shake your head to clear it and smile at Sans as best you can.  
  
“I've gotta... return a microwave,” you whisper, rising and backing up away from your mourning host and her friend, eyes on them as you can only hope your face emits your explanation. You're sorry, you don't belong in this private moment, and, did you mention you're sorry? Because, you are. Sans raises a hand ever so slightly and tilts it a millimeter left then right, and instead of laughing, tears run down your face in a warm blurry rush.  
  
As soon as you get to the front door, you open and shut it with very careful silence, then run.  
  
~~  
  
You arrive back at your apartment near breathless and panting, and don't even bother to lock the door before leaping onto your bed like a homing torpedo, curling into the fetal position and falling asleep.  
  
~~

 

“ _D...dad...I'm...I'm sorry!” A goat monster with a large form and substantial horns lies pathetically sprawled on a wide bed, sweating so heavily that the fur on his body is matted down and dripping wet. Regardless of his shaking, the man reaches up a hand and pats Asriel's head, before his hand slides back down towards him, leaving a trail of damp on the kid's forehead.  
  
“E-ever-everyone makes...mistakes...” Asriel's father murmurs brokenly, and Asriel bleats his worried dismay. From the bedroom doorway comes a strangled huff of breath, followed by a choking sort of swallow, and then silence. But Asriel heard his sibling, and whirls around towards Chara with a feverish panic in his eyes.  
  
“Chara, get mom!!” Chara opens their mouth, closes it, then their eyes, and breathes out on a snickering sigh. Asriel's eyes widen further as Chara hiccups their way into flat out chuckling, and from there to louder and louder full throated laughter.  
  
“What's funny!?” He demands, and Chara doubles over, clutching their stomach as tears waterfall down their cheeks. “Cha-” Chara flinches back from their brother's unthinking touch, expression contorted unrecognizably, taking a step back for each he takes forward, until the two are facing each other in the hall, Chara's back against the wall.  
  
“Wha-” Asriel's confusion melts away in the space of a second, replacing itself with a desperate scowl. “What is _ wrong _with you??” Chara stares back, without response, and Asriel lifts his hands swiftly to grasp their shoulders. Chara whimpers without moving their mouth, and Asriel drops his arms just as fast, expression utterly lost. “...Dad...” he whispers distantly, sinking to the floor. From his knees he lets out a warbling, miserable, sobbing cry.  
  
The front door flies open with a bang, and Toriel runs towards Asriel, scooping him up into her arms. “What's wrong?” She coos, and after only an instant of surprise he leaps from her hold towards the master bedroom, just as a wracking cough draws full attention to the man on the bed. “_ Asgore? _” Toriel gasps, and rushes to his side._  
  
_Asriel turns at the skittering sound from behind them, and is the only one to catch the soft thump of the closing front door. He blinks in disbelief. Then Asgore Dreemur rasps for some water, and he scurries to retrieve it, swiping away his tears and pushing all thoughts of his sibling from his mind._  
  
~~

 

Waking leaves you disoriented and sore, and the clock informs you it's still the same evening as you fled to sleep. With an uncomfortable moan, you roll around towards your nightstand- just as your phone begins to ring for the second time today.  
  
Don't answer it, don't answer it, don't answer- you lift it gingerly to check the caller, and groan. It's Sans. You answer.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments fill me with Determination to finish this project!
> 
> Bloopers:  
> Sans: “It's tee tee.”  
> Hanabi: “I can't with this.”  
> Sans: “Sorry about the uncomfortable situation.”  
> Hanabi: “...”


	5. Holy Friend Fluff in a Fanfic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just listen to this adorable song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKwhLP4Mwg8

 

“Just calling to let you know, Papyrus will be there in 9.” You nod once with a wrinkled brow alone in your studio apartment, before realizing you have no idea what's going on, as Sans continues,“Your Magic 101: History and Basic Knowledge tutor options included Paps, Alphys, me and Tori. Two of them are busy and the third is occupied. So, you get the world's greatest improv teacher.” You hear a faint pop-wheeze sound from the background static; was that a party blower? “Congrats.”  
  
“What? I just woke u- I mean, I didn't invite anyone? I... mean... huh?”  
  
“Papyrus is the best, so you gotta give your best effort, ok?”  
  
“I...ok...? No, no, wait.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath, demanding your brain to kick in for business. “...What the hell?”  
  
“That's up for some serious metaphysical deba-”  
  
“Stop, stop joking. I'm freaking out, Toriel's freaking out, Papyrus is probably gonna end up freaking out and I don't-”  
  
“I'm glad you're worried, but.” A quiet moment, then, “...But, I think this could actually help you both.” You are trying so hard not to roll your eyes out the door and into the setting sun.  
  
“ _How?_ ”  
  
“You'll just have to trust me. Anyway, it's not like you've got anything better to do. Right?”   
  
“...I'll tidy a bit, first.”  
  
“ 'K, cool. He'll appreciate that.”  
  
“So I hope.”  
  
“Later, then.” The line goes dead. So does your suspended disbelief. You drop the phone on the bed and follow it down.  
  
You have magic.  
  
“Scourgify. ...Great. Nothing. Thanks.” Having sassed yourself appropriately, you get up and start tidying your apartment for the first time since moving in last year. You realize three minutes in that six minutes is maybe enough time to hide all your boxers in a shadow-y corner, supposing you manage to dig them all from the general chaos. Luckily, that venture is a success.

You just have time to change jeans and throw on a blouse before Papyrus knocks on your door, and it swings open. Since you left it unlocked. And not quite closed. “Ugh,” you comment eloquently, and your guest's gloved hands twine together in a familiar gesture of anxiety. No.  
  
“That wasn't at you! That was _not_ at you, that was all me, 'cause I'm, I'm so sloppy!”   
  
“A poem!” He exclaims with a sudden smile, and you can feel your ears heat up.  
  
“It's, uh, a dumb habit. I babble just in my head so much, I might as well make it entertaining sometimes, y'know? And then it, uh, started coming out my mouth when I'm... uh. …that... wasn't even a good one, dunno if it counts as a poem, I...” Papyrus' head is tilted slightly, body language all metaphoric ears and disapproving concern, and you just can't even mock yourself anymore, He's. So pure. “Do you like poetry?”  
  
“It's relaxing,” he agrees, and casts his gaze around the room as surreptitiously as you think he can manage, lingering on the single chair before your folding table. You nearly trip over two mugs in your haste to retrieve your beanbag from behind your bed, against the wall where rolling unconsciously out and over could hurt the most. Then you kick aside as much clutter from around the door as possible, wave him inside, plop the beanbag in the newly available space for him and actually close your apartment door.  
  
“I'm a host now,” you proclaim self consciously, then shift more stuff around and sit on the floor in front of your guest. “I'm... sorry about the mess.”  
  
“I'm used to mess,” he sighs, lowering himself onto the beanbag and subsequently curling himself inward to fit somewhat within it. The process is a bit like watching a spider trying to extricate itself from a raindrop, in reverse. His patellas jut up past his face, tibias and fibulas barring the space between you, yet you see that monster skull faces can form a moue. Your own giggles surprise you.  
  
“W-wou-hehe, would you pref-ur-hur-hur, th-the, chair?” You stand and offer him a hand up, which he accepts with an expression obviously touched... regardless, you did not think that through. His height overtakes yours in half a second, and his knees are still partially bent; you move a leg backwards to steady yourself and your foot finds dubious purchase on an emptied chip bag.

As your back leg slides forward and your front foot loses traction, you wrap both arms below Papyrus' ribs and toss his minimal weight upwards, backwards, through the air. In one frozen instant your doe eyed puzzlement meets his poleaxed surprise, and in the next the back of your head hits the floor as he lands with a soft puff on his padded shoulders and your mattress. “An'...I could. Just. Lie here. ...Ow.” You close your eyes in shame, hearing light footfalls that come to a stop by your side.  
  
“That was noble.” You crack one eye and raise its eyebrow.  
  
“I almost took you down with me.”   
  
“So humble!” Papyrus' smile near literally spreads to his eyes. It's adorably uncanny-valley creepy and warms your soul soft and fluffy like mash potatoes. You squeak and close your eye again, aiming for nonchalant, macho silence...as he pats your squished afro like it had been a good dog. You scramble frantically sideways and and onto all fours so you can leap to reclaim your feet and dignity. “-OOKAY, lesson time! Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.” Papyrus is smiling happily as he situates himself on your one chair, and you sit on the corner of your bed to face him.   
  
“So, magi-” your remember why your apartment's visiter is here in the first place. Toriel cried like someone who'd held it in... for... “...How does it go away?” Papyrus blinks like he'd misheard. So you ask again. His smile fades as he blinks again, and your eyes sting like self inflicted rebuke. So you pretend you misspoke, and ask something else. “How was your day?”

Papyrus stares at you with his mouth half open for your most painful not particularly awkward moment in relative ages. You get the feeling apologizing would only make him more concerned, and your discomfort would have the same result. So you dip your head to acknowledge your words, and meet his eyes seriously. “My magic made Toriel sad.”   
  
“What happened?” You explain as best you can the strange instant of shared unreality, the sweet-sickening swoop of crushing vertigo it invoked. The instant misery in her eyes, her empty expression, the rolling tear. Papyrus nods attentively, then waits patiently as you dab your eyes on your sleeves.   
  
“B-basically, I su- certainly need to... figure shit out.”  
  
“Please...don't be so hard on yourself.” You think maybe you can try anything, in response to such an earnest plea. So you give Papyrus a thumbs up; to which he freaking sighs.   
  
“Whyyyyyyy,” you lament, which startles an unsure huff of amusement from his prior subdued...ness.   
  
“Well, you didn't mean ill, for one!” What is it with this dude and misunderstanding everything in the most precious way possible? “Secondly, you actually meant _well_!”   
  
“I was being nosy and r-”  
  
“-Ridiculous levels of caring!! Above and beyond! Admirable! I agree!!”  
  
“Wow.”  
  
“Yes! You are astounding!” Another giggle spurt hits like a singular hiccup. You fight it until you burp and burn with the gravity of your idiocy as well as the fact that you pulled your blankets over your head. Papyrus steps over and pulls them away from your visage, and you only struggle to stay hidden for two seconds.   
  
“And you are _unreasonably_ _precious_ ,” you had meant to whisper and have the words muffled by the sheets which are no longer covering your mouth. Papyrus' eye sockets widen... and then narrow as he looks aside in thought. All that remains of his smile is the natural set of his skeletal jaw.  
  
“What... do you mean?” He isn't being coy. This doesn't even seem to be simple awkwardness, or confusion. If anything he seems... lost? You impulsively wrap your arms around his upper spine, resting your arms and elbows on his shoulder guards and letting your hair squash against his skull, your lips between his eye sockets. You stay still a moment, and he does as well. You try to gather your thoughts, because suddenly what you are going to say is very important.  
  
“...You're wonderful. In a... very real way.” You feel his jaw open, and close, and you snuggle your nose down into his nose hallow with very little thought. “You're so _kind_ ,” you proclaim, and wrap your arms just a bit snugger around the space where his neck would be. “I've only known you about 24 hours, and you're already... probably the best friend I've ever had.” Papyrus gasps, so you draw back to greet his awe with a smile.  
  
“You... you mean that?”   
  
“I do.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Almost definitely.”  
  
“Almost?”  
  
“Well... there is my mom. She's kind of awesome.” Papyrus blinks and then laughs, grinning.  
  
“I know what you mean. Family is great.” He smiles contentedly, certainly at the thought of his adoring brother, and you are very glad he's so lucky in his relations. Then he refocuses on you, and wraps his skeletal arms around your torso and neck tight enough to feel quite odd. “ _Thank you_ , Hanabi.” He means it. You don't know why, but he means it. You don't even know what you say back, but the bones close in tighter against your flesh encased ribs and you wheeze a bit, which has the unfortunate result of your release.   
  
“So... lesson time, for real, now?”  
  
“Whenever you're ready!”   
  
The remainder of the evening and late into the night is filled with bracing knowledge, some laughter, many questions, more answers, and an effervescent, soothing sort of happiness. At some point you fall asleep, and when you wake the next afternoon, you are in the most efficient blanket burrito you've experienced since you lived at home. The door is closed and bolted, and your small table has been moved to your bedside, bearing a glass of water and a protein bar. You take a moment to just lie there, feeling comfortable and cared about, before you slip into an accidental nap. When you wake up again, breakfast is still there. So you eat it.

 


	6. Division

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bZ7Z-UUili8 
> 
> Hanabi gets schooled

 Considering how quickly it had been constructed, the school building seems proportionally _monstrous_ in size, from your admittedly amateur perspective. If you could think of a clever way to share that insight with Sans right now, you would, but... too many people, and you're gonna be going inside that location you've never been in before, and... you glance beseechingly up at Papyrus, who gives you a double thumbs up, an overtly cheering wink, and your thermos of warm tea. Bestest friend to ever friend. Sans turns towards you himself, nods his head towards the entrance, and you take another deep breath of very cold air. You decide if you're gonna go in anyway, you're gonna go quickly- since there is hopefully a heater past those daunting doors.  
  
You are greeted by an immediate warmth from your right, and smile as you turn towards – a small monster, who is looking up at you with a smile of their own. “Oh, hello, hello!” They say to you, as... magma, actual magma, burbles in the dip of their conical head. You feel heat waves radiating towards you, and while you know in a moment it will be too much, just in this instant the opposite of cold is perfectly lovely.  
  
“Hello,” you reply, “Thank you for being here...I'm, Hanabi. What's your name?” The boiling lava pops and swirls faster as color saturates the monster's cheeks.  
  
“Ah, I'm! Vulcan! It's so nice to see you! Nice to see you smile! And smiling... at me! Ahh, are all humans this nice? Nice like Frisk! Nice like Hanabi! Nice like...” Vulcan looks over your shoulder, and grins. “-Papyrus! Model for shrubbery! Model for friendliness! Giver of hugs!!” They hop eagerly forward as Papyrus kneels down to wrap his skeletal arms around them; your eyes bug in fear as his humeri turn an increasingly toasted hue upon contact.  
  
“Pa-” but he seems undeterred, and unaffected... the embrace goes on for three more very long seconds,Vulcan wiggling with happiness, and you trembling with horror. Your friend turns towards you and Sans as he lets go, burnt bones facing the two of you, out of sight of their humming, contented fellow monster. Sans gently lobs a candy to bounce off of Papyrus' forehead, and land in his cupped gloves. You have all of a half second to be certain you're going to faint, while the taller brother unwraps the sweet and tosses it down his throat. The next instant, his collagen is _healed_. Sans softens his grin knowingly as he watches you wobble and lean against the wall, thanking everything merciful for magical monster candy. You're so glad you didn't pull a full freak out... but... wait. You stand on tip toe and pull Papyrus' scarf, so he bends down to let you whisper.  
  
“Didn't that... hurt?”  
  
“...No?” He stage-whispers back... you glance worriedly at Vulcan, but the sweet smaller monster is still humming gladly as they sway back and forth, dripping superheated drops, basking in the joy of reciprocity, and not listening at all. “Unless our hp gets...low, feeling is more like...” he turns to Sans, who is listening, and shrugs. Sans then reaches up towards your very fluffily jacketed arm, and pokes very lightly at it with a single flange.  
  
“Did that hurt?” San queries, and you shake your head, thinking.  
  
“So... it's like, ya'll sort of... sense things? But don't really actually feel them? I guess that's why Papyrus can wear just that outfit and not...” But, Sans is wearing a jacket. Is _he_ cold?  
  
Your pondering is interrupted when you hear the soft footfall of someone walking down the hall towards the four of you, and look up to see Frisk. Unlike in Toriel's photo, they are confidently smiling. There is a familiar flowerpot balanced on one shoulder and Flowey is wrapped twice around the child's head to secure his container. The yellow flower scowls in a fantastically bored, omnidirectional sort of way, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, though perhaps especially Frisk's, as they look up towards him many times in the short amount of time before they come to a stop in front of you.  
  
“I _will_ lean over and sneeze pollen directly up your nose,” he is sighing, to which Frisk blushes as their smile grows more pronounced. They twist deftly into a pose native to ballet, a frozen artistic swoon that does not shift the pot a centimeter. Flowey contorts himself and sneezes pollen up Frisk's nose. The monsters' ambassador accepts their plight with poise, holding their breath as they cautiously extricate Flowey and set his pot safely on the floor, before bending over to wheeze and cough heavily to clear their airways. You kneel mutely and pat their back in an attempt to help, Flowey's baleful eyes at your back. “Tell me whenever you're ready Frisk...” he requests, “How does that feel? This is the eleventh time, so I think I'm getting better with my aim, but I'd like to know.”  
  
Frisk nods, smile returning in fixed stubbornness whenever they can close their mouth in the midst of the pollen's upheaval. They've barely taken in a full lungful of air without choking when they open their mouth to reply, yet their voice is rough and the effort sends them into another concerning fit of coughs. “...Write the answer down...?” You beg, unsettled, and Frisk nods as they pull a sheet and pencil from their dimensional box.  
  
'It burns severely... but nothing compares to the ardor of my desire.'

You watch Frisk dot the period with force that snaps the pencil's lead, and present the paper to Flowey with a flourish and a wink. You are faintly disturbed. Flowey seems to share this sentiment.  
  
“When will you hate me?” The flower demands, and Frisk shakes their head fondly, raising their arms into an X formation.  
  
“Ih' yh'r dreahmths,” they croak, through obvious pain. Flowey sinks into packed dirt and buries his face like an ostrich, seeming to have no more comments, or fucks, to give. There is a moment of silence. Then Frisk summons a crumble of dry wavy noodles into their hands to crunch on it loudly, swallowing with a scrunched face that relaxes the next instant. They turn and offer a hand to you as they scoop their companion's pot from the ground with their other.  
  
“Greetings, Hanabi Coleman,” they begin like a professional diplomat. You stand quickly, nodding down at them and accepting their handshake with as much gravitas as possible in this moment, trying not to let on how at a loss you are feeling. “I apologize for the wait. My companion required assistance, surely you understand?” As usual, the child's face is indiscernible, but you get the feeling that beneath this serious exterior they are far more proud of their pronunciation than they are truly apologetic.  
  
“Uhm...hello, Frisk Dreemur. That, is, absolutely... fine.” Frisk begins to walk back towards the direction they came, tugging you after them. Papyrus steps forward, matching Frisk's stride ahead of you, in case you needed another reason to trust the kid savior of an entire race. You and Sans follow ambassador and assistant at a purposeful pace as you marvel that Papyrus' status had failed to really occur to you until after you had decided he was your friend. You think maybe your processing capacity is faultier than you feared. Or maybe kindhearted officials leave everyone starstruck. It's not like you have much personal experience in the field of social science.  
  
The classroom the 6 of you end up entering is a compact and economically designed space in every direction but up. The ceiling would easily accomidate people up to three times your height, and Papyrus appears shorter in contrast. Toriel shares this effect as well as she stands up and moves to welcome the group... you close your eyes and shake your head to clear it, or at least push your appologies into a coherent formation.  
  
She shouldn't be too upset with you now, though? Your visit today had been her idea, after all... You open your eyes to see her face, composed and smiling. As she becons the group to a prepared row of differently sized chairs set before a whiteboard, her movements are simple and seem relaxed. You attempt to smile back, and she accepts this with a nod. When everyone is seated, your next lesson in magic begins.  
  
“First and foremost,” Toriel declares, “The Dreemur School of Surface Society would like to thank and welcome you as it's second human attendee since founding. We members of this establishment will do everything in our power to secure your satisfactory academic experience, for as long as you choose to grace us with your faith and presence. Furthermore, as an extenion of our gratitude, you will not be expected to supply payment for classes taken here.” The Monster Queen's expression softens upon your wide-eyed face, and she chuckles very lightly. Frisk joins in, higher pitched and knowing. You notice them staring your way from the corner of your vision. They notice you noticing, and wink.  
  
“Um...I thought...what about student loans...? I...yeah, I can't pay now, even for just one course, honestly, but-” Frisk's mother shakes her head emphatically.  
  
You've been offered the equivalent of free college. How can that work? Monster's haven't been on the surface long enough to be that financially stable. How...how does everyone in the room even live in a house? You start to turn to Frisk, catch yourself from questioning the child, and show Papyrus your face full of conflict. He smiles as he points to Sans, who fields the query transfer with an easy nod of his skull.  
  
“Gold,” he informs you, “a lot of it was underground already, and if we have some of something, with enough magic we can replicate it pretty much as needed. Or, some monsters can, anyway. 'S a talent. Al let you know, though; it requires some chem degrees.” Your head whips back towards Toriel so fast your neck pops.  
  
“Teach me _all the things!_ ”  
  
“Even with coaching, it is unlikely that your variety of magic will be extendible into the field of alchemy.”  
  
“Oh.” Well. Not everyone can live fancy. “...When you say 'my variety,' though, what categories are there?” Papyrus raises his glove at your question, and Toriel calls his name like a practiced professor.  
  
“Human mages can support only one division of magic within their monocolor Soul, while monsters' white souls hold an even amount of every color there is! This means that a mage's magic type is aligned with their greatest Soul trait, and their one kind of magic can eventually gain the power that for monsters is divided through each portion!” Your eyebrows are probably lost in your hair as Papyrus continues to illuminate you with cheerful vigor. “Even among mages of the same Soul shade, magic manifests uniquely among humans, like with monsters. ...And so! The affect categories! This one we already know about you, thanks to my _amazing_ one on one question and lesson session! Nyheh.”

You nod, entranced. “And?”  
  
“Your magic is metaphysical.”  
  
You're not sure what you were expecting. “Metaphysical...? Like...uh, love?” Flowey makes a funny noise into the unexpected conversation lull following your question, and Frisk adjusts his positon from one of their knees to the other. “...What?” Sans tilts his posture a bit towards you, not much of a movement really, but he's probably about to answer something, so you take it upon yourself to face him properly.  
  
“We'd have to have a look at your Soul to get actual details and more than a general idea of where your ability stems from, but from what we've seen, your magical talent is to Encounter compassion.”  
  
“...Meaning...?” Sans is watching your face now as he continues.  
  
“Meaning that in your untrained state, if anyone near enough to your person or you yourself experience an emotion of enough affective or resonant magnitude, a window of sorts is opened, spilling stream of conciousness one or both ways.”  
  
You choke on nothing and bring both hands towards your face with enough force to be painful for your nose. You don't plan to move them. A familiar glove material settles slowly on an exposed patch of your shoulder.  
  
“That does not mean only upsetting emotions,” Papyrus is trying to tone down his usual volume, and you appreciate his caring and concern very much. “After we talked about family, and you were tired from learning... I knew you were happy, and comfortable enough to compare your feelings to a domestic scene in which you had enjoyed feeling safe and warm.”  
  
That's why you'd woken in the blanket burrito, to breakfast...? You remove your hand guards from your face and let Papyrus glimpse your wet-shining eyes, wanting very much to give the man a hug. For a moment you are afraid you've given him more than your face to read, but he rubs his hand across your upper back and smiles rather than offering an embrace, so you're gonna assume only your eyes are leaking.  
  
Then something occurs to you.  
  
“Wait, does this mean, I was broadcasting to random people since... for a year?” The words come out and you're barely aware of their sound, becoming lost in a dawning, cobbled montage horror. Which is promptly shoved down by a chorus of 'no's and Frisk's quiet declaration of jynx.  
  
“Only those with magical aptitude were included in the affect and resonance,” Toriel explains, “to metaphysically reach those without magic, with magic, there must be intent as well as focus. Along with advanced comprehension of what is meant to occur, ideally.” You nod. That's not so bad.  
  
“How do I get better about... oversharing, though?”  
  
“How do you decide what you wish and do not wish to tell someone while in a conversation?”  
  
“...This is gonna be complicated.” Toriel tilts her head sympathetically, but offers another smile.  
  
“We will be here to help you learn comfort with your capabilities. The awkwardness of budding magical manifestation is one every monster can understand.”  
  
“...Mm. Thank...thanks.” You clench and unclench your fists to watch the muscles tighten and loose, tracking every shift visible from beneath your own skin. Uncurl your fingers, to watch your bones collaborate with muscle and flesh.  
  
You've seen Sans' hands. Beneath his gloves, Papyrus' are also likely bare bone. The queen's paws are jointed and flexible, and covered with fur lustrous as cashmere. She moves with a grace that belies her dimentions and her feet make notable sound only when she steps with deliberate weight. Flowey is carried around in a container. Frisk is unlikely yet a teen.  
  
These people claim to know what turned your world sideways, and their explination...hits something. Fear. ...Curiosity. Half formed... daydreams...  
  
_The hands,_ those _hands. Familiar, far more than your own now. Than your own then. Always tilting, always moving. Those beautiful, expressive, calloused creator's hands._  
  
_You pass him the vial and he smiles, unguarded with excitement. It's so close, he tells you, after setting the apparatus carefully in place. He's actually figured out a way. You're going to-_  
  
“-bi? Hanabi.” Frisk's face is across from your own, their scrunched brows visible through their bangs, as Flowey jabs sharply at your left knee; a grounding metranome.  
  
Blinking is a timeless, cloying process, surreal as the line between lucid nightmare or dream. Your guts lurch with the effort but somehow when you're back in focus you haven't been sick.  
  
“So...” Magic...? “Next lesson. _Please._ ”

 


	7. Clean Freak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HaNvzj6H8RA 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The plot drops! Psss-dmmm

You'd woken choking on your sobbing tears, and been unable to stop. It had almost been like you were still asleep; the time spent heaving and shaking pointlessly stretched unbelievably on. Your body had become too achy to properly cross your room. You had called for your mom, but she slept soundly on, in the early hours of a beautiful morning.  
  
It had been scary. _It was really scary_. There were no clues or reasons for this. The day before had been fine. Yesterday had been _normal_. You didn't cry like this. After your adoption, you'd hardly cried at all.  
  
You and mom were settled snugly in a homey house and a safe suburb. When she was out for work or social time, you didn't get bored. You had online classes, homework, general internet, shopping sites, and plenty of snacks. If you suffered for conversation, mom's girlfriend was only a call away. She'd even visit to drive you around the block, let you watch humans doing average human things from a wise distance. Jay wasn't snobbish, she didn't poke at you, didn't comment on your clothes. Together, you've pulled off some near impressive annual baking feats on mom's birthdays.  
  
Mom and Jay had tucked you in together the night before, each kissing one of your cheeks, and you'd blushed so hard the two noticed. You'd declared them the most embarrassing parents ever, so Jay had bent to kiss your forehead as well, and you'd begged mom for rescue. She had wrestled Jay out your room's door, both of them giggling like teenagers, to say their usual sappy drawn out goodnights at the front door.  
  
After it occurred to you to summon mom via cellphones, even being wrapped up in her arms couldn't end the senseless deluge. Her hands stroking your knuckles, usually so calming, resulted in swifter, more painful gasps. Pats at your back sent you into hysterics. You'd come to realize you were shying from her hands. Her face, brimming with tears, had mirrored your pain and utter confusion.  
  
Some of the memory is... blurred, moments are, lost, but you're pretty sure Jay was the one who agreed you could all have a spontaneous car ride into the general direction you had been staring blankly towards for fathomless time prior, gaze boring into the room's west wall.  
  
Mount Ebott had looked beautiful in the distance. You'd fainted as it came into clear view. When you woke up in Jay's car, pulled to the side of the road, you were done crying. You'd opened your car door, taken a deep breath of air, and felt every hair on the back of your neck rising like a puzzled cat's.  
  
You couldn't remember ever feeling so alive. You had hugged Jay, who was hugging mom, and the three of you had stayed still like that for at least thirty minutes.  
  
You tried to explain your... you somehow ended up telling them you wanted to move here, live by your own power in the town a sign promised was seven miles away. It would be a fresh start. Clean like the breeze. Magnetic, with polarized peace... akin the raw _something_ new in your chest. _Direction_... unknown, unease.  
  
The news exploded the next day, but none of you had been watching. You'd been planning how to pack your favorite things, Jay doing the same at her apartment, and mom preparing her room for her partner to finally move in.

  
~~  


“-And, almost forgot to wish you! A! Goooood morning, flower.”  
  
“Please, Jay... Hana _bi_.”  
  
“Honey bee!”  
  
“No. You are fired.”  
  
“Firework pun, yes.”  
  
“Maybe at a stretch. Mom appreciates this stuff more, so why don't you... uh... fly off. And...um. Tweet...? At... her...? ...Gah, why are you awake this early in the morning. It's dumb. Are you actually a bird.” Your future other mother cackles cheerfully, in the cutest way cackles can be a thing.

You've got many gooey family feelings right now and you lowkey resent them, since receiving them required rolling out of bed at 6 a.m. “I'm going back to sleep,” you inform Jay (Ma? Mother? Still Jay?) softly, “Congrats again on the great news, I know ya'll keep being obnoxiously cute into eternity. Hug mom for me, please?”  
  
“Mhmm,” Jay replies far too happily, and yeah your heart is gonna be mush all day now.  
  
“Ugggghh,” you manage, and a kiss is blown through the receiver, before you hear what might be a partial second of bleary morning-mom-noises and the phone's hangup click.  
  
Well then.  
  
It's good to know mom's still doing well without you home, it is. Really. You just, never doubted it at all, to be... transparently honest.  
  
Internal clarity, transparent honesty: a notable instance of this was your homework from yesterday's magic lesson. It hadn't been as daunting as it sounded. Mom and Jay are hardly uphill trains of thought. ...You feel pretty... silly. And you're...not actually getting back to sleep. Time for your dumb internet favorites.  
  
Cat videos...tempting, but no. Puppy videos...later, definitely later. Squeaking frog compilations! Hell yes.  
  
You confuse yourself by closing the tab you just opened when the frog takes the screen.  
  
In a surge of pique, you reactively search for frogs in Google's images, only to experience a full body shudder and shut the tab.  
  
The fuck is your problem??! -you wonder for all of two seconds before your mind supplies sharp snapped sticks and near darkness. You exhale as you remember Halloween. You guess you're glad you didn't hallucinate. But, if it wasn't fake. That was. Real?  
  
Then _what was that_?  
  
“'Think I'd rather just be 'creative,'” you complain to the nearest wall, “have been a stay at home author, made my mommas proud. They'd totally be proud of that, right? If I was a neat kind of, crazy.” Or if you'd finished your college degree before borrowing more money to run off in a spontaneous attempt to escape your unplanned onset of existential terror.  
  
Life is so messy.  
  
So.  
  
_Messy.  
  
_ Aaand. Thinking of.  
  
Your apartment is _abhorrent._  
  
You're hopping around picking up your socks, counting the pairs in increasing distain, (seriously, how much money did you spend on new ones instead of washing these?? Mom is so much better at tidying...!) when your cell phone rings again and you leap for it predictably.  
  
“Good morning, my friend!”  
  
“...Papyrus?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
He's already witnessed this disaster. “Hooow are your organization skills?”  
  
“Truly great!” You imagine you can see him thrusting his torso forward in adorkable pride.  
  
“If you help me neaten my lair, I will repay you with a favor of your choice. Which is an excuse to spend time with you.” He laughs with too much energy for 6:13 a.m. You know you'll forgive him.  
  
...He was not exaggerating. He may be a genius. The two of you have hashed out a solid sorting system and eight subsystems detailing the entire apartment within fifteen minutes of his arrival. You watch him play miracle Tetris with your textbooks, CDs and video games in silence, unwilling to disturb the off the charts level of fun he is very obviously having. You kind of really want to give him a butler outfit, one of the fancy over the top anime ones with pointy gleaming shoulders, except, _wth_ , Hanabi. And now you can't unsee it. He'd look...so cool. You focus back on your laundry.  
  
“The place is going to be beautiful,” you admit, “I would not have realized this.” Papyrus twirls swiftly from one freshly dusted shelf to the next most needing attention, with pretty impressive balance. He stopped on a dime and didn't lean on anything. You'd try to replicate the move, but you've had enough failure gymnastics for the month. Renewed apartment, Renewed decorum. Yeah.  
  
You lift your overflowing laundry basket, and it obscures your vision as you step closer to your door. When you set your burden on the floor near the exit, you hear a crack below your soccer cleats, and look down.  
  
It's a very familiar object you fumble to lift, holding the broken thing between your palms. You remember when mom gave this to you, the first day you met. You gaze at its state until Papyrus leans over your shoulder to surmise the reason for your silence.  
  
“...Uummm...” You, are _not_ going to cry right now. “Uh...” Your vision blurs and slight impacts of warmth hit your wrists. Salt water slides into your... hands and _you're laughing as you catch-flip the bucket, splashing back all you can, spluttering sound through the slick of well water and clay dirt. The returning laughter is as boisterous, unlovely and unhindered as you could have hoped. When hands raise again, there is no signed surrender, but rather-_  
  
You'd shaken so hard your palms separated, and the beloved old object tumbled in halves back floorward. Papyrus snatched them from this peril, and steps quietly before you to show that their remnants are sound.  
  
“Gotta _goforabitneeda_ break,” you maybe manage, then lurch out your door and dash.

The park bench seems an appropriate place to stop. You don't want to wander uncharted ground, having left your cellphone behind. You close your eyes for awhile, inhaling and exhaling at a slowing pace.  
  
Some time later, you are stirred from half-sleep by a soft pat at your right knee. Frisk stares unblinkingly back at you as they pocket their cell phone with their other hand.  
  
“Just letting Papyrus know where you are,” they assure you, then hop and twirl in a deft midair maneuver to land seated by your side. You blink, trying to focus, and note a breeze blowing dried leaves which rustle as they twist thorough the air...

  
“-Papyr- oh, sh-” Frisk tilts their head fractionally towards you in what is possibly anticipation, but you cough in leu of an expletive. “Please say I didn't leave him at my apartment for long...”  
  
“He finished tidying and went home.”  
  
“...There are no words,” you groan.  
  
“There are four words,” Frisk corrects. You raise an eyebrow at them and they return the gesture, deadpan.  
  
“I will muss your hair,” you threaten, “I will mess it up, it will be annoying.” That is...a smirk. Frisk leans back on the bench, rolling their shoulders leisurely until they pop. When they face away from you, head tilted back as though to watch the sky...you can no longer see their eyes through their hair, but...? You stick two fingers into your mouth and pull them down, making the best 'D:' face you can spontaneously muster. Frisk snorts softly. ...Well. Gotcha.  
  
“Hanabi,” they begin, not bothering to change their position, “I've wanted us to talk.”  
  
When you open your mouth to reply, a bug finds it a choice crypt. You gag politely into your elbow, to reveal a white...pellet, thing? Not-bug? Frisk giggles as Flowey unwinds from the branches of the tree above the bench like an anaconda, shortening his stem by degrees to settle atop Frisk's head. Like a... flower crown. With one flower. One, to rule them a- he's talking, you should pay atten-  
  
“-ur lack of patience almost annoying.”  
  
“Almost?”  
  
“...I'm nowhere close to caring,”  
  
“Damn.” Both your eyebrows raise.

“Does Toriel know you use that word?”  
  
“No...” The child shifts their posture rapidly and shoves their bangs to the side, moving their face into your space in a swift motion. Flowey looks anywhere but forward, though Frisk's eyes are wide and pleading. “But mom doesn't need to know _everything_ , does she?”  
  
“Uh-”  
  
“You won't tell her we snuck out, either, right?”  
  
“You what?” Flowey tsks, begins to roll his eyes, stops halfway and just lets out a faint sigh.  
  
“I helped Papyrus,” Frisk insists solemnly. This kid. ...This...wait.  
  
“You're the monsters' ambassador,” you recall. “Don't you need a...bodyguard, or-” Frisk silences you with a palm over your lips.  
  
“I am the monsters' ambassador,” they confirm. “I am ambassador, and Toriel is their queen. Papyrus is my assistant, and both Alphys and Undyne recently held high ranking positions. Sans is always doing something, too. And so,” the spread fingers around your nose hook slightly, Frisk's nails lightly scratching below your eyes. “We need to know. Who are you?” Frisk lifts their hand slowly away from you, and you wince a bit watching it's retreat. Yet again into the silence that follows.

  
“I...” Flowey seems interested in the current topic as much as Frisk, and your vision swims slightly about the two pairs of unblinking eyes. “I'm...I. Am Hanabi.” Frisk nods sagely.  
  
“And I am Frisk. Why are you here, Hanabi?”  
  
“What?” ...What? “I, don't know.”  
  
“Really?” Oh my god.  
  
“Do I need to leave?” Frisk's eyes widen slightly, Flowey does not react. “Because, I can. Leave. I can leave.”  
  
“No...” Frisk's eyes narrow now, as they tilt their head and Flowey flows to the benchside ground from his prior position. “Don't go.” You gape for a moment, try to grasp this conversation, and fail.  
  
“Then, uh. What do you... um. Want? From, me?” Frisk turns to Flowey with a sigh.  
  
“It _is_ too early,” they mumble. The flower doesn't bother responding. Frisk closes their eyes in concentration, holds their hands before them and- opens a dimensional box. You gasp loudly.  
  
“WHAT? You can- I thought that was just a monster ability!!” Frisk takes your amazement in stride.  
  
“It's a magic thing, actually.” They explain, reaching into apparent void to retrieve a small hard drive. They offer the item to you. “A gift from me and Alphys. Take it.” You grasp it with an automatic motion and nod your head. You don't register your acceptance until after you look down at your fist.  
  
“...What's in it?”  
  
“A connection to the Underweb. Attach that to any computer, and you'll be able to use the human Internet to access the Underground's network as well.” You blink owlishly at the plausible connotations, consider asking legal questions, and refrain. Frisk reaches into the unknowable again, retrieving a folded paper. “This is our account information. Friend us if you're serious about being involved.”  
  
“...”  
  
“With Monsterkind.”  
  
“We're friends,” you say weakly. Frisk holds your gaze an unnervingly long time.  
  
“Okay!” They chirp abruptly, and you're unable to respond. “See you later! Say hi for me!!” And with that, the preteen is skipping away, waving to you as they depart, Flowey cradled sullenly in their arms.

You return to your pristine apartment with a squirming mixed bag of feelings, but take the time to text Papyrus your thanks and apologies before anything else. He responds with cheerful relief, and with that you are soothed slightly as well.  
  
There's probably no way you're leaving Papyrus. That's really all there is to say on the matter. And yet.  
  
This whole thing is actually complicated.  
  
You think about Sans. His sympathy. Toriel, and her generosity. Alphys' acceptance, Undyne's friendliness. Frisk's...  
  
Frisk's...existence? That kid is... Sans' assessment, 'some kind of magic,' comes to mind, and you think of dimensional boxes and snort. There's not even anything funny, this whole thing is just...  
  
Oh, man.  
  
You stare at the small device you'd set beside you, and consider the magnitude of which it is symbolic.  
  
And then abruptly, for reason you honestly cannot fathom, shove it clumsily into your laptop's port.  
  
Multiple tabs open and close across the screen faster than your eyes can follow, until finally there is a moment for which pop ups cease. The laptop's fans buzz for a moment, in an odd off sort of way that would have you concerned, but does not sound distinctly malfunctional. You try to move your mouse, and equally concerningly, it does not respond. You leave it alone, staring at your computer, until your curser's position does move- in roughly the opposite direction it should have.  
  
“Aw, shi-” you cut yourself off as another pop up announces itself with a distinct, unfamiliar trill.  
  
-  
**h  
ello  
welcome to  
The Core  
Admin? Y/N  
** -  
**  
** “Uhhhh,” you gape unintelligently, until another message appears.  
  
-  
**clearance** **level Unverified  
Scientist Alphys  
?  
Scientist G%@ &$ * > >>>>> >><< << #^=========/+  
___ _____ __ ___ _/  
  
****ERROR 606 -///////  
  
****  
  
** \- 

Your computer's fans flare to activation again, this time with an undeniably frightening noise of exertion.  
  
“NO!” This was your birthday gift from mom! You're not gonna let your laptop just die-!  
  
And so you do the panicky idiotic thing and try to tell an inanimate object what to do.  
  
-  
STOP OVERHEATING!!!!  
-  
  
You type with a vengeance, and to your great surprise, your laptop obeys. After a moment of silence, you hear the trill again.  
  
-  
**w  
ha  
t  
  
is  
  
where  
  
you  
?  
** - **  
  
** You blink and shiver, lost and creeped out.  
  
-  
Um...is monster internet run by an AI?  
-  
  
Calm down, you order yourself silently...  
  
Your curser moves around your homescreen, clicking, opening and closing things rapidly. Your teeth are already chattering before your camera light turns itself on.  
  
-  
**!**  
**Human**  
-  
  
“...Yeah?” Before it occurs to you to type back, you already have another message.  
  
-  
**how did  
access  
who  
** -  
  
“...Frisk,” you whisper, and your computer makes another strange noise. The next tab that opens has an undulating line across it, which shifts with the delivery of an electronically synthesized voice.  
  
_“You know Frisk.”_ It doesn't sound like a question.  
  
“Yeah... they're...we're, um, friends.” You shiver hard into an interlude of static.  
  
_“Why did they link you to The Core?”  
  
_ “Th-they wanted me to- Undernet.”  
  
The two communication tabs close simultaneously with the light of your camera flicking off. In their place, a tab is opened that looks similar to a regular search engine. Your curser clicks many things quickly, pages loading at speeds you had not seen your laptop manage before. When there is a pause, you are at a page that asks you to please create your Undernet account.  
  
When you have, there is one message waiting in your inbox. You open it.  
  
**Greetings from the kingdom  
\- C**

 


	8. Sincerely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sincerely](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fp_lgg-tbZQ)

_When they land, you_ feel _it. An impromptu, rising surge from adrenaline and exhilaration, segueing rapidly into terror then an abrupt, sharp myriad of hurts. You are aware of their disjointed shaking, and this strikes you as not unlike a dream... perhaps._

_It had, after all, been a very long time since you could dream._

_~~_

Wannabi: I can't sleep, Core. I keep having _weird_ dreams, then _that_ dream! I'm reaching for someone's hands, feel something I can't even fathom via _dream logic_ , and wake up _crying_.

**C: C**

Wannabi: Sorry C.

**C: Why are you not messaging friends?**   


A very pertinent question.  
  
Wannabi: It's four in the morning, and also, it's complicated. Like. Legally complicated, maybe?   
  
...You directly inform the monsters' Undernet operator. You battle the urge to face-desk, and are aided by an incoming message.  
  


C: You should appreciate dreaming. Even if it is essentially glitched, or random; through dreaming, you may freely and fully experience depths of your Soul. Even unconscious, you live.

  
“Wow! Hm,”  
  
Wannabi: ...Nightmares still suck, though?  
  
Five seconds later, you've been linked to “Pain” by Three Day's Grace. You cackle loudly, proud that AIs have a sense of humor. You send back The Eurythmics' “Sweet Dreams.” A strange tingle grips your fingers, so you lift your hands from the keyboard to shake it out. The sensation travels partway down your arms before vanishing. You must be exhausted.  
  
Wannabi: I think I've gotta lie down again,

**C: Sweet dreams.**

****  
~~

_You still feel the burning, the awful bubbly_ roiling _, long after you can't move your arms. Long after the heaving is useless, pain's more of a constant, and this body cannot continue to fight digestion or death. You are not surprised, when you recall how bad Asgore the ancient got wiped by the stuff. You are_ surprised that you can register your state again though.  
  
_...You hear him. Toriel too. And... Asriel just couldn't_ stay out _until it's time. That_ sucks _. You shake harder. You want to stop._ You don't want your family to _-_  
  
_“Don't lose hope! Chara! Stay determined!” ...Dad. “Chara! You have to stay determined! You can't give up... You are the future of humans and monsters...”_  
  
_You can't swallow, or breathe. You can't assure him now. But you will. Asriel_ won't _waste this chance, he_ won't _let you wander alone._  
  
_Don't grieve any longer, father. King. The future of monsters will be_  
  
…  
  
…..  
  
….......  
  
  
_'-bi. Wannabi. Are you lucid? If you can recognize words, reply.'_ You whimper, maybe. You can't even hear right anymore... but...you don't hurt. ' _You are not ill. Your body is safe in your bed, healthy and unharmed. What are you aware of? Please focus.'_  
  
You don't feel anything. You don't see anything. You didn't actually hear the voice, not in the usual auditory way. There's only the other, and...you?  
  
' _Human Souls are receptive to magic, whether or not they can access it. And I am magic. Greetings.'_  
  
Magic is a sentient being?  
  
' _Magic is in a way living, but its raw sentience is an enigma. For example, monsters are made entirely of magic from Soul to physical form, and human Souls contain magical elements. The Soul has historically been considered the core of consciousness, and thus has magic been considered its source. However, data from. Anomalous situations has. Indicated that consciousness is not so simple. The Soul is not the entirety of a being. Souls are enigmatic.'_  
  
You're lost...  
  
_'I'll lead then. Why do you have Frisk's flash drive?'_  
  
...Flash drive. Oh. Undernet.  
  
_'That flash drive also contains an iteration of my consciousness. Frisk took their link from Alphys and added me to the attachment, so I could travel with them over distance. We did not discuss shared access. Explain how you have the item in your possession and I will search you.'_  
  
Or you will search me?  
  
_'Explain.'_  
  
They... said it was a gift. There's an odd pressure before you relive closing your fingers around the proffered device, at the park bench with the child ambassador.  
  
_'Message Frisk from the laptop when you wake up.'_  
  
~~  
You wake at some point, and spend an unknown portion of time staring at the ceiling, drifting in blurry thoughts and something like vertigo. Did you catch a bug? Where is the thermometer? 

__

You almost miss the polite knocking at your door. Since you don't actually miss it, you congratulate yourself for not changing into pajamas the night before. You hobble across your newly obstacle-free floor and peer through the peephole.  
  
The view is of white fur. You unlock the door to welcome Toriel, but look up to lock eyes with the second goat monster you had glimpsed in the photo from Toriel's living room.  
  
“Greetings, Hanabi Coleman. My name is Asgore Dreemur and... I,” Shuffling his massive furred feet, Asgore lifted a basket to your head's height. “Brought cakes and...if... well. I was wondering if, we could have tea?”

“I love tea,” you mumble to the monster king, and Asgore bobs his impressively horned head in a nod. The two of you stand there for a moment, blinking as you try to get yourself in gear.  
  
“O-oh, um, sorry, I'm in your way, I'll,” you scoot aside, and then completely out of the doorway, wondering how the heck your guest will manage to get inside your apartment. Considering he manages...you guess, you'll both have to sit on the floor?  
  
He ends up handing you the bag then crouching until his horns have clearance, paws on the ground, holding in his stomach and teetering sideways and inside. The movements are somewhat like the crab walk. You don't mention his undignified if effective approach, and he kneels on the pillow you provided like he always takes his tea time in such a way. You close the door and kneel similarly on the pillow from your bed; you feel a bit topply like that, so you shift to sit in criss cross style instead. Finally situated, you realize you haven't started the tea.  
  
“Oh, geez.” You rise and remove one of your prized possessions from the cabinet; your fabulously functional English teapot. Best Valentine to yourself ever, if you say so yourself. And you do say so. You turn the water faucet on and wait for the water to warm, gathering the necessities. You search through bottles of loose teas and etcetera, select sugar crystals, gather teaspoons, your two saucers and tea cups... the water seems ready. You rinse the teapot with the heated liquid to prepare it, humming as the familiar ritual takes you away.  
  
Turns out, you're so captivated by the familiar you're finished preparing mom's favorite raspberry tea before you recall who you're brewing for.  
  
And then... an obvious question. ...Can goat monsters drink human tea?

You turn to show Asgore your best impersonation of someone who does not want to cringe, to find him smiling. Warmly.  
  
“Can- do you...enjoy raspberries?”  
  
“Your tea smells divine,” he rumbles with... is that what contentment sounds like? The room does smell wonderful... maybe for memory reasons, but overall, it is a nice scent, really. Taking his praise as assurance you won't be poisoning royalty, you carry his saucer and cup and place them carefully onto a waiting paw. The china is dwarfed. You fetch potholders and set the teapot between you and your guest before arranging larger plates for his cakes, as well as placing the sugar in easy reach. You sit with your own cup of tea, hold it steady, and have a long whiff.  
  
He drinks his first serving with a dainty single sip, then sighs in deep, leisurely appreciation. You pour him another cup.  
  
The cakes taste lightly of strawberry and strongly of amazing. 

The tea session passes without words, and it's great. As clarity trickles back, infused with the warmth of your beverage, you find yourself puzzling over something you'd...forgotten? What was it...  
  
“-bi?”  
  
' _Wannabi?'_  
  
“Hanabi?”  
  
“Yeah?” Asgore is smiling down at you, but. His former ease has left. There's a sort of...hesitance, in his expression. A complicated, somber sort of, something. You tip back your last drop of tea, working to swallow.  
  
“I...was first informed of you by Undyne, on the night you met.” Whoa ... you nod. “I waited to receive another report... and was updated soon after, by... Frisk.”

“...Y...eah?” the Monster King holds your gaze with a weight you swear pins you to your floor. Error: limbs are become rocks and also noodles: see also: _italicized mental keymash._  
  
“I just...” Asgore Dreemer sighs, deeply. “I hope... you realize what you are edging towards. Some were not given... I fervently wish, from hereon, that freedom make ignorance safer.”  
  
“Woooowwwwhat the shit? _I-I mean,_ wow that's some, heavy...heavy, uh... prog...noses...? Uh. Wrong word? Um.” You raise an index finger to touch above an eyebrow, then lower the hand, its fingers partially curled downward as it hovers above and around your other hand, which has its fingers curled partially upward. _I'm confused._  
  
He recognizes sign language...despite an increasingly distant expression, he signs back as though practiced, _this is a dangerous situation._ “Hanabi... we thank you for being a friend.”  
  
“...Haha, but...?”  
  
A soft, partly stifled grunt. “The fact that you even met us here...was unlikely and cause for alarm.”  
  
“Alarm?”  
  
“A human magician, at our covert place of respite soon after our arrival?That was... holistically, unexpected.”  
  
“Ah.” You ponder. “...But...” Asgore waits patiently. You watch his face, but his expression falls flat. ... “You? They. Told me _names_ , and.” Small nod. “...Didn't seem to be... very wary? Of, me. So...” Your head tilts until your ear pats your shoulder; “what... are you saying right now?”  
  
Do you sign a confidentiality contract? Face the retraction of your magic monster schooling and/or sign a confidentiality contract? Do you receive a... politely delivered restraining order...? “I'm...sorry I'm. Magic. …?”  
  
Asgore fights unsuccessfully with a fonder huff of breath. “Chara, you-” Uh?  
  
“I _have_ been called a 'character,' but-” His expression remains pretty damn stricken. Is he? Gonna cry? ...No, he clears his throat around a sad noise, and continues the conversation.  
  
“By spending so much time around monsters, you run a risk of being viewed as a political statement.”  
  
“...”  
  
“In addition, you may receive undue attention and distain from your own kind, for allying with the inhuman.”

“Sir... it's not that I don't appreciate your concern, honestly, but...” You lift your empty teacup, gesturing hopelessly, signing nothing. “I... I'm...” He's watching you with slightly damp eyes. “An adult...?”  
  
Asgore Dreemur, King of Monsters, nods regally and bows as best he can from his seat on the floor. “I wish you the best, Hanabi Coleman. Whatever your decision... I am truly thankful for your empathy and companionship. Particularly regarding Frisk. Though they are an understanding child, I am sure... none of this has been easy for them.” A deep sigh. “It is impossible to cease missing the companionship of one's kin.”  
  
What can you say to that? “I...ok.” You wince at your laconic state, but the king smiles at you with avuncular compassion. Then he shambles quietly out your door, closes it gently, and you are left alone.

Your computer trills immediately. You ignore it, staring vacantly at the abandoned tea settings. You are summoned again. You don't care. Your computer whirrs strangely.  
  
_'Reminder, 2:49 P.M.: Message Frisk.'_  
  
“...That you, C?”  
  
_'Please message Frisk.'_  
  
“Sure. Ok.” You stumble to the whirring laptop, nodding flatly to the camera. Yes, sir/ma'am. You don't even need to friend Frisk yet to message them, right? One way to find out. Yep, cool.  
  
Wannabi: C wants you?

**Frisk: what  
**   
Frisk: hanabi how do you  
  
Frisk: C?  
  
Frisk: -wait til later? but you're here and there and  
  
Frisk: why is hanabi in this conversation 

Your end's reply pops up immediately, without your input.  


Wannabi: My question exactly. Hanabi, thank you, and I apologize, but I can handle this conversation from here. You're free to tidy from tea.

Your reply is doubtless unneccessary and confusing, but you add it anyway.  
  
Wannabi: Cool, have fun.

You sit on your bed and on your phone; the latter you don't realize until you faintly hear a low voice. You've somehow called Sans.  
  
“...Hey,” you lift your phone to reply weakly. “Sorry, I sat on my phone and it called you because phones are unknowable.” He doesn't laugh. Boo. Your days' frustration peaks and implodes simultaneously. “I just wanted to make friends and have tea,” you plead. “Why is everything so complicated?”  
  
“I dunno, I'm not the person to ask. I just wanted to live happily with my brother.”  
  
“Sans, are you ok?” A huff.  
  
“Tori's got it rough right now. At least Papyrus is well.” You nod uselessly.  
  
“Yeah, if Papyrus is ok the world will obviously keep spinning.” Now Sans laughs.  
  
“You get it,” he says cheerfully. Nodding invisibly is still rather silly but whatever.

“...Uh, hey...” You pause, pensive. “I think I should thank you.”  
  
“What for?”

“Giving me a chance. Talking to me. Being nice. Letting me meet your friends. You didn't have to do any of that, but you did. So, thanks.” Skeletons don't need to breathe, so there is dead silence rather than the sound of Sans' breath through the brief silence.  
  
“All I did was stand there,” He states. You roll your eyes.  
  
“Well, thanks anyway?”  
  
“...Welcome, I guess.”  
  
“Truly, you are a master of chivalry.”  
  
“I never claimed to be anything but a comic.” You grin. Over the line, you hear a the pop of Sans' jaws in a skeletal yawn.

“You need a nap too?”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“You aren't my brother.”  
  
“True. My apologies.” You imagine Papyrus' brother's halfhearted wave of 'whatever'. “Anyway, it was a nice talk. Have a good evening, Sans?”  
  
“You too, Hanabi.” Click. You place your phone carefully on your nightstand before sprawling sideways on your bed and going back to sleep.  
  
_~~_  
  
_The purple walls stretch from the narrowed cave walls onward as far past the patch of flowers and dirt as can be seen._  
  
_The pain from moments earlier is completely absent, as are the many injuries that accompanied them. Even the tack of drying blood is absent. It's like the crash landing never happened._   
  
'Why not tell me your name? There's no reason to keep secrets from a voice in your own head.' _Your head shakes. A vertiginous feeling is an... externally sourced, mental shrug. Your body shivers, unaccustomed to this paradox of perception. You sense a sigh._ 'I'll pick a name for you, then. I've got a real good name for humans. Until I learn the true name... greetings, Chara.'

~~  
  
You sit up with a start. You lunge for your laptop and type, half awake, 'names that start with C.'  
_'...It's me. Chara.'  
_

Memories flash through your head; sequential, well organized. The frog. A child running breakneck speed, through the woods, at night. The smell of pie and echoes of clapped anticipation.  
  
...Observation of another injured human. ...Possession...?  
  
_'Don't panic! I can only get in your dreams... your magic's half yellow. And I could only access Frisk as far as they agreed with. Red magic-'_  
  
“Oh, cool.” You put the computer down casually, burrow under your covers, and scream. 


	9. Common World Domination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Common World Domination](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Z3TbMBfDM0)

_'Talk to Napstablook when you feel like trash! Here's his account. He'd love a friend.'_

~~

NAPSTABLOOK22: Uh...I'm sorry...you missed the name you meant to click...  
  
Wannabi: No...I meant to friend you;; Hi, Napstablook?  
  
NAPSTABLOOK22: ...Right. Hello.  
  
You wait 35 minutes for his next reply.  
  
“Is he... always super busy?”  
  
_'Ask him!'_  
  
“I don't want to bother him...”  
  
_'So you're bothering me?'_  
  
You hold in a sob.  
  
Wannabi: ...I'm sorry, you don't even know me. I can delete my friending right now.  


NAPSTABLOOK22: ...Only if you meant to... you don't need to be sorry...

Oh?

Wannabi: Do you... want to be my friend?

NAPSTABLOOK22: Oh. Ok.

A minute more of waiting.

Wannabi: Do you like... music?

NAPSTABLOOK22: It's my hobby... well, one of them.

Wannabi: Wow! I love music!

NAPSTABLOOK22: Oh. 

Wannabi: Really! What's your favorite band!

Monster music! Monster music!! Oh, he replied!

NAPSTABLOOK22: I just listen to what I make. Mostly.

What.

Wannabi: YOU MAKE MUSIC

NAPSTABLOOK22: Y yes

Wannabi: Can I hear some?

NAPSTABLOOK22: Yes.

~~

You're jamming so hard, earphones unplugged and computer volume cranked, waving your arms slow-mo and giggling near deranged, tuning out Chara's occasional complaint until you can't anymore... and vehemently tap sticky note after sticky note over your laptop camera.  
  
Hhhhholy shit. Holy shit. ...Dance!! You fumble a lot over your keyboard, re-writing at least three times to avoid typos.  
  
Wannabi: It's so spooky! Totally fits my mood! I love it!

Reply gap...?

NAPSTABLOOK22: You do?

Wannabi: I do!

NAPSTABLOOK22: Oh.

' _Free my vision or I'll tell him you crave ghost butt.'_ You grab the impressive adhesive pile and yank it away with both hands, nearly slamming your laptop shut. The green 'on' symbol winks off, on, off...on. Ugh.

“Why are you so... terrible.” Static.  
  
_'Judgmental, aren't you?'_ You groan. With feeling.

“Why am I alive.”  
  
_'Are you interested in a trade?'_

“Oh my _god,_ ” It takes you a second to notice the tonal modulation growing through the static... how it changes by the millisecond. Sounds like- “You're laughing?”

_'Giggles,'_

“...Now I've heard it all.”  
  
_'Hardly.'_ You drop weightlessly into your chair. Your computer dings.

NAPSTABLOOK22: Hey, are you

Wannabi: Am I...?

NAPSTABLOOK22: No. Nevermind.

NAPSTABLOOK22: Sorry, I'm not really feeling up to this right now.

You stare. What went wrong?

Wannabi: Ok. Feel better...

Your new friend logs out, leaving you with Chara. Through your computer's speakers, they sigh.

_'He does that a lot. Well, a lot since.'_

“Since?”

_'He does that a lot!'_

“...So I've heard.”

 _'At least they reply now! Used to be you'd have to practically tear them away from each other. From their mopey little two ghost club... it could have been so much more fun if they'd accepted another member! I guess they thought I was joking. But I couldn't exactly head over there myself, so...'_ Another minute or so of silence. You close your eyes, wanting to nap. Ghosts are common monsters, you guess? Except. Like Chara?? What. No nap...  
  
Is Napstablook also going to use the laptop speakers unannounced? Will he and Chara argue, speaking simultaneously, reducing all output to unsettling white noise? Will Napstablook be able to 'access-'

 _'Drink some water? You look really limp.'_  
  
“...Ok.” You don't get up. You want to see if more poltergeist stuff is real.  
  
Actually, you just want to slee- your phone rings. And it's-  
  
“Mom..”  
  
“Hey, fire's work.”  
  
“Firework,” you correct softly, smiling. She laughs like the breeze.  
  
“Sparkler~”  
  
She sounds so thrilled, just that you're talking. You love your mom so fiercely in that moment, you nearly feel ok.  
  
“...I miss you...” you garble the words, and she coos in sympathy.  
  
“I miss you too...” She sighs. You swallow and quickly blow your nose in your sleeve.  
  
“You do know you're the best mom ever to mom, don't you?”  
  
“You do know I love you with the force of a thousand suns and anyone who hurts you must face my unquenchable, insatiable wrath, don't you?” She's joking. You're glad she's on speaker anyway. “Now tell me what douchelord made you cry.” ...Oh,  
  
“Maybe I just miss you,”  
  
“Maybe, maybe not.”  
  
“Mom...”  
  
“Hanabi.”  
  
“...I love you.”  
  
“I love you too. Talk to me.” No getting out of this one, not completely.  
  
“Settling in is more complicated than I thought.” She hmms.  
  
“There's always a home with me, when you want it.” ...Mom...  
  
...You have to protect her.  
  
“Thank you, but, I'll be okay. I just need to work some stuff out.” Mature, confident, mature...  
  
“You're sure, flicker?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Then I wish you all the luck.” … pff...  
  
“Aaaaaaaall of it?”  
  
“I would, but you're apartment bound rather than Homestuck.” You _love_ your memefuck adoption hero.  
“Thank you, mom... really. You're... I love you.”  
  
“You sound like you need a nap?”  
  
“...Yeah. I do.”  
  
“Alright, sweet dreams baby.”  
  
“'Night, ma.” You hang up.  
  
_'Having a family is a heavy responsibility.'_ You look up. _'I'm more observant than I seem,'_ You raise your eyebrows at the green camera button. Static-y, stilted laughter. _'Meaning, I have hidden wisdom.'_  
  
“And a visible spy cam.” More laughter. Why do you suddenly find this conversation fun? You groan with **feeling**. “...Stop messing with me, please...? I feel like I'm gonna explode...”  
  
_'I love fireworks,'_ Chara snickers. You at least sort of expected that. You set your computer's background to Disney's sky show, shove your cell phone in your pocket, and slam the door as you walk out.  
  
You make it to the big tree before the tears really hit. You leap and grapple the branches like falling is a myth, not giving a single fuck about anything but being hidden in those wide leaves. When you are sufficiently high up, you wrap koala-like around a branch three fourths your width and let hell loose. Eat snot, you beautiful ancient force of nature. Eat _snot_.  
  
Your phone rings, buzzing against the steadying branch. It's Papyrus' ringtone.... _fuck_.  
  
“I'm shhoohoh-hohrrryyyy,” you lament, and cry on. The ringing continues, and stops. Silence aside from your waterworks. ...Then...  
  
_*crackle*_  
  
_'Tfw u expect fireworks and it rains?'_  
  
You swear inventively.  
  
“S-sorry Hanabi...” Frisk!???? “C...wanted to, um.”  
  
'Hanabi's C number 2 speaking,' Crackly sigh. 'Sorry, I thought you'd get mad.'  
  
“Whut?” You croak,  
  
_'I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry.' ...Like that's the issue here...? ..._

“Chara. Didn't mean to hurt you,” Frisk explains, voice oddly terse. “They only.” Only?  
  
“...Ahre you gonna hurt my mom.” Utter quiet-  
  
“NO!”  
  
_'NO!'_  
  
“...No?”  
  
_'If I was going to kill someone, I would need a reason!'_ Crackly mechanical yelling is definitely something out of horror films, content aside, even.  
  
“...Exactly,” Frisk mumbles affirmatively, and whoawhat.  
  
“Frisk please say murdering my mother never crossed your preteen frontal cortex.” The silence is more than unnerving. “Oh, _come on!_ ”  
  
“No, Hanabi, it's not like that.”  
  
_'Frisk is astoundingly adept at successful nonviolent negotiation. They'd never kill anyone unless absolutely inevitable.'_

How on Earth can you reply to that but via crying.   
  
“I'm calling help,” Frisk declares.  
  
_'Yeah, maybe they need... space?'_  
  
Ten minutes after your phone hung itself up, Papyrus jogs to you and asks worriedly how you came to be stuck up a tree. Oh, that skeleton.

“Bzzzz. It was inevitable for Hana'bee'.”  
  
“Is that a **_pun??_** ” You crack up, and fall down.  
  
How his catching you managed to send ya'll into a tumbleweed style roll over even ground, you are truly unsure. When the two of you come to a halt, you're clinging to him shamelessly, tears still rolling down your cheeks. He pats your back without comment. Time passes.  
  
“Anime is real when I'm with you,” you finally drawl, exhaustedly amused. Papyrus squawks in high offense.  
  
“Anime is _not_ real! Why do people keep saying that??” You giggle into his chest plate, enjoying the banter. Papyrus feels... safe. “-didn't even write me that letter she said she would after that, I guess I should have been more diplomatic regarding the non real state of cartoons but! I didn't get that F!”  
  
“An F?”  
  
“F for friendship! She said she'd write me a letter, albeit short...” He sighs without breath in genuine disappointment. “I was going to put it by my favorite se- cube.” He's sad? Oh, no.  
  
“I'll write you a letter, Papyrus.”  
  
“...Will you? Actually?”  
  
“I promise! If I fail, I owe you twenty dollars.”  
  
“...I just want a letter.” Aww.  
  
“You'll have it,” you swear, and beam a smile down at his skull. That's when your positions hit you. You roll off of him quickly, flushing. Awkwardest ever award, right there, it is once again your own. “Aw jeez, I was really in your personal space there,”  
  
“All's well, Hanabi. You required a cheering hug.” He says your name like _friend_. Recent events... not aside, you... still do not mind. At all. You sigh, and reach a hand to help Papyrus to his feet.  
  
“Character Hanabi would now _perhaps_ die for you,” you mumble. He jerks his skull towards you, and you throw your hands up defensively. “Meme,” you explain, and he blinks with his improbable facial anatomy while you laugh hoarsely.  
  
“...Let's take you home?” You can't read Papyrus' new tone, it's more deliberate, less candid. But he smiles assuringly, and you walk at his side.  
  
He stops at your apartment door, so you do as well. He opens his jaw, closes it, exhales in that alien way.  
  
“What's up?” Papyrus makes a noise like clearing his nonexistent lungs, and folds his gloved hands together.  
  
“Thank you, Hanabi Coleman.”  
  
“...What...for?”  
  
“For. I. We. Please do not think you will be a poor friend for anyone.” You stomach plunges to sizzle in Earth's mantle.  
  
“Stop that.” He tilts his head. Is he confused? Surprised?  
  
“I am sorry. I am not as accustomed to formali-”  
  
“This isn't a formality! You're dropping a friend off at home!”  
  
“...There's a broadcast at the human capital in two weeks. Frisk and Toriel want you to be there. I'd much rather you be safe!”  
  
“What is my life? Oh, god. I said that out loud. Papyrus, don't say goodbye so nobly, this is ridiculous. _You_ are ridiculous, why aren't you being ridiculous.” He hands you a tissue packet and you grab it, pull his hand open, and shove it back into the recreated grasp. You can't see because you are leaking _anger_ , ok.  
  
“I have a negative number of plans to be at the broadcast whatever, so what. Why should we stop being friends over that. Dumb.” He hugs you abruptly and you stand as still as a Hanabi cardboard cutout, too Done for expression. Only your arms aren't getting the memo, and he gets his hug returned. Bluh. “I'll see you when you get back, you massive calcified dork.” Papyrus nods into your shoulder. Good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And if you're feeling up to it, please leave a kudos or comment bc it would make the author very happy <3
> 
> -The Beta Reader


	10. Oh No!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Oh No! by Marina and the Diamonds ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cr-SqRWImmI)

Fifteen days later, you open your door to receive an explosion of glitter painting your front various shades of pink, barely manage to close your eyes on time and choke grossly on the amount of glitz that went down your esophagus.  
  
Your visitor waits impatiently while you perform human necessities such as vomiting into the shoes you left by the door. You try not to laugh because you just puked glitter. Which, oh right. _Why?_  
  
You're not even gonna try to speak with your throat like this; you sign your query. The one responsible waves a glimmering metallic hand in idle distain.  
  
“Just take your time, darling. Pretend I can be here all day.”  
  
'Wow. Rude.'  
  
“Do you need tea? I'm sure I've got some tea. Why not carry tea, honestly. It just looks so refined.” He reaches into a dimensional box with an expanding arm.  
  
You croak that, well, doesn't _he_ look so refined? The noises you make are as abysmal as your faux flattering comeback. Useless burn couldn't boil water. Water.  
  
You reach into your pocket to bring out your phone and phone notes, typing fast.  
  
-  
Tea's inside, so will I be. Welcome in.  
-  
  
You hold your device very close to his surprised face, then whirl around and towards your sink. You take your microwaved tea into the bathroom after the universal symbol for 'wait a sec,' gulp as fast as possible with minimum gagging, and then face the monster in your kitchen.  
  
He's watching your small tv intently, and doesn't seem to hear you exit the bathroom. You know this movie, watched it as soon as it came out, 'cause you were bored. It wasn't bad.  
  
“-Then they have a music number, fall instantly in love; and her aunt comes in and congratulates him on finding his cousin.” Monster celebrity Mettaton whirls around, staring at you hard. You smirk. “Just letting you know the rest of the scene, since I shouldn't pretend you can be here all day.” ...Chara is rubbing off on you...  
  
Mettaton turns off the television without breaking eye contact, which is odd and you could have done without. Then he stares at you some moments longer. Until you blink.  
  
“...You declined an invitation to be featured in my latest program?”  
  
“Right, can't waste time.” You aren't even trying to be sarcastic... whoops. Tactic change: frank.“I... didn't want the attention.”  
  
“You know... we weren't aiming to expose your magic. Secrets can be hidden very well...in plain sight.” He's still _staring_ at you, what even. You look down, to break from his gaze. Your eyes settle on his abdominal, pink inverted heart.

It's hard to breathe, suddenly. Like when Flowey got close to that girl, Chelsie. You sink to the floor, sitting with as much coordination as you can muster, and Mettaton effortlessly follows. You close your eyes briefly, take a deep breath. Release it. Breathe again. When you can look at him, Mettaton's expression is frightening.  
  
And veeeery close.  
  
You open and close your dry mouth, puzzled, heart hammering. “...Wh-”

A shining arm wraps slowly around your shoulders, and you're pulled slightly forward. “What say we go for a walk?” You can't swallow now, either.  
  
“....A-Absolutely no serial killer vibes at all right no-”  
  
“Knock, knock.” You both blink, and turn to the door. A deep voice, clearly enunciated, had caught your attention.  
  
“...Who's there?” Mettaton? This is not your house.  
  
“Nobody.”  
  
“...Come in,” you wheeze. Sans pushes the door open, and Mettaton's arm rewinds and he sits back as Sans saunters to your microwave, pulling something from a dimensional box. He warms it for nine seconds and...dumps the ketchup into one of your mugs. Sipping appreciatively, he settles into your bean bag chair, after pulling it closer to the two of you.  
  
The tension fades slowly, as Sans nurses his beverage(??) in unacknowledging silence. Eventually, an alarm requests that Mettaton 'go _shine_ , gorgeous!' and he leaves... with a long look towards you, and a sharp look towards Sans. Sans waves, you don't. And Mettaton is on his way.  
  
Finally, you can breathe. You yawn heavily, taking in as much oxygen as your lungs can handle. Sans chugs the last of his lukewarm condiment. You look at him, and he sighs quietly.  
  
“Don't worry about it?” He pleads. You blink, he sighs again. “I don't think he's ever been to magic school, himself. He may be ...heh, operating, under a misapprehension of what your magecraft entails.”

“...I thought he was gonna kill me,” you manage, and Sans winces. Or maybe gets a smile cramp.  
  
“Nah,” he assures you. “But he may have planned to kidnap you.”  
  
“Shit!”  
  
“Joking.” Sans pulls a pile of wadded documents from his left pocket, smile fading a degree in intensity. “...Hm.”  
  
“What's that?” Sans blinks both eyes, and shoves the papers back into the pocket.  
  
“Sorry, I got distracted.” You nod, still feeling some emotional whiplash and not up to pursuing the subject. “...Hey, mind if I crash here tonight?”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“I fought with Papyrus?”  
  
“You didn't!”  
  
“I left a surprise for Papyrus?”  
  
“A surprise?”  
  
“Maybe, I'd like to make sure Mettaton doesn't have too much free time.” You swallow, painfully, twice.  
  
“Well, shit. Welcome.” Sans glances at you, and waves his hands easily.  
  
“Hey, it's not as bad as you think. ...It almost never is.” You can't even reply to that.  
  
“I'm going to sleep now, welcome to anything I'm not using.”  
  
“Generous, thanks.”  
  
“Mmmh.” You flop into bed, close your eyes, and  
  
~~  
  
_You try to catch a snowflake on your tongue. You can't taste or feel anything, but that's fine. You're content it hasn't fallen out ye- well. You pull your cape further over your face, watch the way the snowflakes fall; track how to stay downwind of your direction._

 _You're not sure where you're going this morning, any more than you were last night. The sun creeps up, it sinks down. The light comes, the light goes. Your eyes had shown you a neat variety of color permutations, until they couldn't._  
  
_You seldom leave a trail of blood or rot, anymore, where you step. This is useful. And fine._  
  
_You're doing fine avoiding the living. The hedgehogs you'd encountered time ago might be showing more bones by now, but. They weren't human. You guess it's fine._  
  
_Next moon, you sense the most beautiful and horrible noise you've ever heard._  
  
_“Greetings, friend! Where are you from?”_


	11. Head Full of Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Head Full of Shadows by The Glitch Mob](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Esvw3fxlXXE)

-You're awake. The low light of early a.m. hours falls across your apartment, and your eyes follow a faint sound. The light of a street lamp neatly bisects Sans' skull. At first glance, he's scribbling, frantically. The pen in his hand flies in jerky, hurried motions. Three more seconds of this, of circles and underlines and somethings, and he suddenly stops. To blink blankly, sigh deeply, and drop his head into his hands. You must be imagining the slight damp sheen as he lifts his skull from his metacarpals.  
  
“'Morning.” He isn't looking at you. How did he...?  
  
“...It's late, Sans?”  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
“Did you sleep at all?” Now he does face you, to shrug. His eye lights seem more piercing, in the halfway illumination of the room. “...You need to sleep. I mean! Even if you don't _need_ to, going too long without rest-”  
  
'- _could drive you mad,'_ completes a carrying whisper. _  
  
_ He blinks slightly slower than you, so you catch the end.  
  
That was instantaneous? Did he...? Hear...?  
  
No...  
  
You leap out of bed, busy yourself pretending to make coffee, then stop pretending. You're not sleeping any more tonight.  
  
You aren't dreaming about _that._  
  
A more recent dream floats to your waking mind... you pause, consider its traces. Apathy, a lack of exhaustability. Something like fury; like burning... so tiring. Thin fingers...bone.

“...Sans?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“...No, forget it.” You are gonna put all the sugar into this coffee and nothing can stop you. Except your shaking hands, apparently. The sugar spills to the floor, stark white and insufficiently distracting. Things teeters at the corner of your thoughts, and you're afraid they'll fall.  
  
_You_ can't 'forget it.'

“...Sans,”  
  
“That's me.”  
  
“Preposition, literary, humorous. Definition: 'without.' ...Why did you choose that name?”  
  
“Why'd you choose Hanabi?”  
  
“Didn't like the old name, story old as time, blah blah.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“That's really your answer too?”  
  
“Nothing fit.”  
  
“Sans,”  
  
“Yep.” ...You'll leave him be. After all, some things are more complicated, yet-  
  
' _darker,'  
  
_ -than you expect...ed... the coffee mug hangs in your fingers, forgotten. You don't notice it slip, or float away on a low blue light.  
  
From as far back as you can remember... you'd been uncomfortable with the dark. Not outright afraid, not scared like a child without a light.  
  
It just...spoke to you, somehow.  
  
Literally. ...Literally spoke to you.  
  
Usually nonsense. A repeated phrase, an impromptu word. Like echos from a conversation you had not been privy to. Enough to make you doubt your senses, and realize you weren't receiving from your ears.  
  
Anyway, you weren't _terrified_ of the dark. It was the _dreams_.

Sometimes through the void was a dry, unending sob, unpunctuated by breathing. Sometimes cracked laughter, or the pounding of a substance against itself. Sometimes, called names. You never remember the names when you wake up.  
  
All throughout, there is Nothing. Not that the dream _isn't_. But the _emptiness_ of it... the impossibility...the emptiness has...  
  
You can't explain. It defies consciousness.  
  
You distantly feel Sans grip your wrist. “Hey, come back.” You blink and breathe and turn towards him as he removes his hand.  
  
“Sorry, lost in... lost,” you explain. He nods slowly, twirling his pen absently. Its click-clack against his digits creates an arrhythmic metronome, and your eyelids lower before they're caught.  
  
“...Don't wanna sleep,” you confide. Sans listens seriously.  
  
“What did you dream?” Click-clack, clickity-clack, clackity-click...  
  
“Mm...scary. Sad story.”  
  
“What do you remember?” You pull yourself back to awareness with a start.  
  
“Not much.” You aren't lying, really. It teeters. ...You... you are tired. You stifle a yawn with an open palm. “...Coffee...” you can't find your cup.  
  
“You should sleep. Then things will be clearer in the morning.” Well, that isn't a bit cryptic.  
  
“What things?” You mumble. Sans opens his mouth, reaches for his pocket, closes his mouth, and tilts his eye lights into the middle distance.  
  
“If you can stand me instead of Paps, there might be a magic lesson.”  
  
Ribbing aside, you _do_ want to see Papyrus. Still, considering the group's return, you probably will anyway. He's yet to call inhis favor, too.  
  
...Maybe you'll sleep better if you embarrass Sans back.“Read me a bedtime story?” You're pointing at his notes pocket because you maybe kinda like being a little shit, and are surprised by a short laugh. An oddly toned laugh, but hey.  
  
“Sure, I've memorized Fluffy Bunny.” What. Have you done.  
  
“Mercy,” you groan, and his rictus grin softens.  
  
“...Alright. I'll tell you something better.”  
  
“ _Please_ , no.”  
  
“Once upon a time, there was a young man who wanted a friend...heh.”  
  
~~  
  
_“'M no ou frien.” You don't turn. You sound like you're dying of plague; maybe the young man will leave you alone. Maybe he won't get any closer.  
  
“You sound awf- you sound unwell!! Have you come to, to see our-” The fool is stepping towards you. You clench your teeth, and don't move.  
  
“Ohn ee el.”  
  
“...Of, of course you... do?” Wary he'll continue to approach, you turn cautiously to lift a branch from the ground. While not revealing your hands, you carve your message more clearly in the space between you.  
  
'Don't need help. Leave me alone.' The silence is surprisingly poignant, until the man sniffs.  
  
“You...you'd rather die than talk to me, too?” What? “I...I understand.” ...What?_  
  
_The young man turns to go, and you poke him with your stick. You lurch backward, horrified, deeply puzzled not to see he's been skewered. He turns back around, equally confused._  
  
_Your hood slips as you jolt, revealing your corpse's face._  
  
_His jaw drops._

 _You freeze.  
  
He...nods, sadly.  
  
“Even you... won't be my friend? Though you've come for me...death...”  
_  
NO.  
  
_You run, and_ he chases you. _You run uphill. He follows doggedly. You run downhill. He rolls. You run for hours through a plain. He collapses behind you, and you survey him. He's trying to crawl, tears dried onto his red patched face... fear and surety written in every line around his eyes.  
  
“Maybe...this way...” He pulls himself forward, using a rock. “I won't be seen as...anymore...maybe..I'll even... family...” _  
  
_You move toward him. He stares into your eye sockets, swallows hard, and smiles. Snatching his empty water canteen, you hold it carefully from the bottom, dip it at an angle into the nearby spring he had_ completely ignored, _and drop it in front of his face._  
  
_You aren't his death. You aren't here for him._

 _You stare him down more hours. He won't drink. He's taken to laying down and looking at the sky...while...crying._  
  
_You come to realize leaving would be the death of him as well. So you find another branch._  
  
_'I'll be your friend if you drink.'_  
  
~~

You wake a second time to your own tears.  
  
“Morning.”  
  
“...Sans?”  
  
“Yeah?” He's the eye of a storm of notes that overtake the apartment, and smiling tiredly. You can barely register the papers, though.  
  
“That was...is so _clear_.”  
  
“It is.”  
  
“What did...what did you do?”  
  
“Nursed him back to health.”  
  
“No, I mean.” So, so Sans was a... and _Papyrus_ was...! You shake your head forcefully. “I thought only... but... what...?”  
  
“Focus stream,” Sans explains, gesturing weakly towards his notes. “More than I expected. Thanks.”


	12. Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [“Forget” by Pogo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOreqez4v9Y)

So, he hadn't intended to give a lesson. Being near you had made him...remember? Something he _didn't_ actually? You...  
  
You've been staring at Papyrus' photo on your phone for what feels like hours. The strong angles of his shoulder blades are more pronounced without skin.   
  
“So...are all monsters... like you?” Sans shakes his head in your peripheral vision.   
  
“No. Well. I don't think so. Far as I know, we're special. Me and Paps and-”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And?”   
  
“Sans, I'm not in a humorous mood.” Sans squints, expression faintly twisting. A bead of...sweat(?) rolls into his nasal cavity. He shakes his head.   
  
“...And...Paps, we're, special...” A beat more of silence, then, “...I remembered when I forgot.”   
  
“Pardon?” Sans is distracted, sifting through paper piles with focus. It occurs to you how _much_ paper is scattered about.   
  
Your phone buzzes. You hadn't set it to silent, so you know who to expect.   
  
C: Don't mention me.  
  
Wannabi: Ok? Why?  
  
No reply. Whatever. You move back to photos, to the one you took Halloween night. After you'd asked for their numbers, you'd all got situated for a group photo.

It's really cute...you squint. Frisk had been shifting a bit, blurring their head slightly in the shot. If you remember right, they'd been looking between you and the woods... towards Mt Ebott? But they're a kid, they were shuffling about, whatever.

...They're the monster diplomat, they're smarter than they look...

Whatever?  
  
It's a coincidence. Your draw to the mountain was a coincidence. You meeting your new friends was a coincidence. You being magic is a coincidence! Sans remembering things in your presence, in the whispering dark...coincidence!  
  
Certainly none of it is related to the motion out the corner of your eye. You aren't moving, you aren't turning. There's never anything there. One time half asleep didn't count. _There's never anyone there._  
  
You whirl around, surprising the monster seeping out of a corner. You swallow a scream and reach for their frantically outstretching hand because their eye is _desperate_ \-   
  
The gray matter of them melts in your palm, and _now_ you scream, as the monster smiles and bubbles and sinks into shadows.   
  
Before you can process anything, you force yourself to unclench your fist. You find a dry circle of bone pieces from the middle of a hand.   
  
You tremble as you sink to the floor, cradling his hurt towards yourself.   
  
_You had meant to save him._   
  
Holding shards from his hand, you begin to remember. Your own voice is distant as you call Sans to you, as you take a random paper from his hands. “He tried to save the world, you know.” Sans is crying. You don't know why. You have more reason for it. You can recognize your brother's shorthand anywhere. Shorthand, lovely doodles from his long hands; those hands that were always animate, always impatient.   
  
Then the spell breaks as the old collagen falls apart, and you brush the mess frantically from your hands.  
  
“Sans, _what's going on?_ ” He's still crying, _you're_ still crying. “Sans??” He shakes his head, shuffles to the door, closes it, leaves.   
  
_What's going on._  
  
“Chara??” Silence. “ _Chara??_ ” You grab your laptop, open the chat. There's nothing. The page is empty.  
  
“What...”  
  
You check your phone. Chara's messages are gone.   
  
What's...going on.  
  
Your phone rings; you snatch it, look at the caller, burst into more tears.  
  
It's Frisk. Frisk is real. You answer.  
  
“Please meet me in the park again. I'd like us to talk.” So poised, for someone so young, at such a moment. You can't take it.  
  
“No, just tell me now.”  
  
“Hanabi, I can promise we will be alone.”  
  
“What...no. Frisk. Please...” you swallow with difficulty. Your throat still hurts... “Please tell me now.”  
  
“I can be at your apartment in 10 minutes.”  
  
“Doesn't Chara make sure no one can hear our calls?”  
  
“...Hanabi, you're not alone right now. We're more similar than you know.”  
  
“...Ok?”  
  
“You know mages are extinct, don't you?”   
  
They...are...?  
  
“What. Are you saying.”  
  
“You didn't. Alright. Please do not panic. You're alive, Hanabi Coleman. You are alive, and so am I, Frisk Dreemur. We are real and our current incarnations are as well. Please remain calm.”  
  
“What's going on?” A deep breath from the other line, then,  
  
“I became a mage temporarily, with...help. It was a new and unique...situation.”   
  
“You used a dimensional box.”  
  
“Once you tap the void, it doesn't. Leave you. So.” Another breath. “Hanabi, close your eyes.” You do. “Reach forward with your dominant hand.”  
  
“...Ok,”  
  
“Wish for something you left back at home.”  
  
“...”  
  
“Please.”  
  
“...Ok,” You don't recognize what's in your hands, but- you open your eyes, to blackness. You screech, yank your hand out, and scuttle like a crab away from more emptiness that consumes itself before your eyes.   
  
“You don't remember opening one before, do you.”  
  
“Nn. No. No! I don't!”  
  
“Deep breaths. In. Out.”  
  
“What's going on!”   
  
“You're connected to The Void, Hanabi. Magic and the void have many known connections, but... not like. ...When we called for old magic, a human, a mage in their 20s, arrived. That was impossible. Your magic is impossible. And erratic. Chara's update just now was... weird.”  
  
“This _really isn't helping me remain calm_!”   
  
“P-please don't yell.” You cover your mouth, ashamed.  
  
“'M sorry,”  
  
“...It's...I'm sorry too.” A moment of deep silence passes from where you and the monster ambassador sit, respectively.   
  
“What's going on with...me and...the void?”  
  
“I don't know.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Chara won't explain.”


	13. Isolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Isolation by Inova ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBvgDKeEEeg%20)

“Why does it matter if Chara won't explain?” Silence, “Is Chara your only source of information?? What about Toriel? What about-”  
  
“Hanabi, take a deep breath.” You sniffle and obey, then try again.  
  
“Frisk, I'm sorry, but, I need to know what's going on with me. Please. I just cried over an ancient scrap of corpse that disintegrated in my palms. I felt like my heart was going to melt, help me out here, _please_.”

“We need Chara.”  
  
“Y-yeah?” Erased lines echo behind your eyes. You hear more unbearable silence...then a relieved sigh.  
  
“For now, we need to calm down. Will you accompany me on a walk?”  
  
“A walk.”  
  
“Yes! Please meet me at the park. There's something... there's something we want to show you.”  
  
On your way to the park, you question many life decisions. This gets tiring very fast, so you decide to... a-void, the... matter... Hhaaa. By the time Frisk comes into view, sans Flowey or anyone else, your fearful anticipation has congealed to a more familiar self aimed discontent.  
  
“...Hey, kid.” Frisk frowns, off put.  
  
“Frisk,” they correct. You nod at the preteen kid you just begged over the phone to explain your life to you, feeling like trash. They stare seriously up at you, unblinking, unmoving. So you try your best at a reassuring smile. They return the gesture just as fleetingly.  
  
They offer you a small hand, and you grasp it. They lead you off the park path, into the tall grass and past the trees. When the two of you are far enough out to not be overheard, Frisk puts their hands to their mouth and whistles.  
  
The strange sound that answers earns a hop from Frisk, and they tug on your hand harder, following the noise.  
  
Your destination is the oddest boat you've ever seen. The seemingly carved eyes in its helm's dog head follow you intently, a wooden tongue lolling out between yips of affection. You tentatively pat the dog. The dog head whines contentedly, and melds slowly back into a regular helm. You continue to stroke it, confused, until Frisk's giggles pull you back to reality.  
  
“This is Riverperson's boat. Underground, it's like a bus system. And it can take us where we need to go.”  
  
You survey the lack of water anywhere near the boat that has somehow not tipped over into the overgrown surrounding grass, and level Frisk with a disbelieving stare you should know better than to rely upon by now. Frisk again giggles as they take your hand, and pull you onto the boat.  
  
An echoing yip is your only warning before the boat shifts upwards... to accommodate its sudden growth of paws. Without your feeling the reactive force of it, and before you'd properly noticed the movement, the wooden boat had taken off dashing through the field. You're still standing upright comfortably as the world begins to blur around you, blurring so thoroughly that all colors begin to bleed into black.  
  
Abruptly, the boat stops. Frisk steps out of the boat easily, and turns to level you with a parody of your earlier look. You stick your tongue out and they blow you a raspberry before taking your hand again and pulling you along.

It's dark here... lit only dimly by specks of light above. As a light begins to rise from the edges of your vision faced forward, your clothes begin to tack onto you under a heavy heat.

“Frisk...”  
  
“Mhm?”  
  
“Where...are we?”  
  
“Almost there.” Almost where? The heat has become near impossible to handle when you see the first bubble of lava. Frisk wordlessly hands you a water bottle with a melting frozen core, and you chug it in dumb silence. Your grip on Frisk's hand has now turned your knuckles white.  
  
Then finally, a building. A door. There's instant heat relief beyond it, and the lights flicker on - Frisk looks up at you to rasp quietly... “Welcome to The Core.”  
  
“The... Core,” Frisk empties another water bottle in one long gulp before nodding confirmation. “Chara went by-”  
  
“Yes.” Frisk walks on, waving you after them. You asked them for answers. You follow.  
  
The next room is harder to enter. It is very dark. Frisk waits for you beyond the open door, hand extended once more. You reach back, feeling like a child again yourself. You hold hands as you exit the elevator.  
  
Unused beds, murky sub darkness. A dusty, tacky, hardly visible floor. You're shaking, and Frisk murmurs assuringly as they pat their free hand against your arm.  
  
_Skreep-pop, shh-skree-pop_. What could be on the floor...? Each step takes more effort. You're not sure you want a light anymore. Of course, now is when the elevator closes, its faint illumination ceasing, and Frisk pulls a small flashlight from their pocket.  
  
You snatch a glimpse at the floor. It's... powdery. Not red-brown. Frisk catches your relieved gaze somberly as you look back up. ...What?  
  
“...Almost there,” they repeat, and you walk on.  
  
The machine engine is boxed shaped. It's monitor displays a cute, red, cartoonishly shaped heart. Frisk releases your hand to kneel before it, and wrap their arms around it.  
  
Several things happen quickly. There is a screeching - scratching. The metallic noise of shifting gears, of moving mechanical parts... from all directions, _every_ _direction at once_.Your muscles, already tensed, elect to freeze you; you're unable to even move your neck. Your feet are rooted in place. You're quivering. Frisk pats your leg, attempting to soothe. You squeak. Frisk pats you again twice. Then abruptly, the noise lapses back to silence. You lose some time working to breathe.  
  
_“...Hello,”_  
  
**!**

Frisk's arms bump you as they wave animatedly upwards, and you crane and pop your neck a notch that direction. A screen has descended from the distant ceiling, displaying text a familiar shade of red. The screen continues to descend until it is at Frisk's height... you look down as best you can, to see Frisk pull another flash drive from their dimensional box and insert it into a port on the screen's side. There is a whirring sound, accompanied by a pulsating of the box's heart. A second's pause after, and-

 _“Hanabi Coleman-”_ The words fill the screen as they come from it's speakers. Nodding won't happen,  
  
“Hey, Chara.” Another pause.  
  
_“...Have we met?”_...Huh? Frisk reaches for your hand again and you close your fingers around theirs without thought.  
  
“Did you...lose some ...data? Memory?” Frisk's hand squeezes your own. You get the feeling it's not all for your benefit.

“Your Chara data deleted itself.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
_“Ah.”_  
  
“...What?” Frisk lifts your hand to the port where a flash drive identical to the one you were given is inserted.  
  
“...Chara... the Core Chara... cannot leave the... Core. They can copy their... mind, digitally, so I can bring a them beyond the Underground's network, to advise me. Then when I visit, I can update them on what their double already learned.”  
  
You've got a bad feeling.  
  
“If I have a double too, isn't it their triples?” Frisk's grip may cut off your circulation.  
  
“They deleted themself.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Your C _deleted themself_.”  
  
“Wh-”

 _“Frisk, I'm right here.”_ The sound that comes from between Frisk's clenched teeth can perhaps be interpreted as a hiss. _“I'm fine, Frisk.”_  
  
“They-”  
  
_“It's_ me. _Chara.”_ Frisk is shaking. _“As in_ Chara _cter as it gets.”_ Frisk pries their hand from yours. You're trying to process.  
  
“They messaged me not to ask.” Frisk's voice is a whisper. “And to show you this.” They're pointing to the heart box. As you stare at the red symbol, it faintly pulsates. “That's Chara's Soul.”  
  
Wait. “What?”  
  
_“This is my Soul.”_  
  
“That's...” Okay, Hanabi, shut your mouth and think. “A ghost's...disembodied soul in... a machine.” they're both waiting. “...How...”  
  
_“The Core that sustains the Underground is secretly powered by a single human soul. Mine. Through arcane and forbidden magic, I have been trapped, my consciousness bound to the inner workings of a mechanical system, for hundreds of years.”_  
  
You might throw up. “Wh-How did this...?”  
  
_“Doctor W. D. Gaster.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you've been enjoying this, please don't forget to leave a kudos or comment, or, if you loved it, a bookmark!
> 
> Love,  
> -The beta reader


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